


Stuck in a Sub-Plot

by emmy_award



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmy_award/pseuds/emmy_award
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What about you, Cas?” Claire asked him. “Do you have faith in God?” <br/>“No,” said Cas, his tone complacent but strong. <br/>“In what, then?” <br/>Cas didn't reply, his gaze fixed on the man leaning against a 1967 Chevy Impala under the glare of a floodlight, and Claire knew that she had gotten her answer.<br/>(OCs)<br/>[contains Dean's inner-monologue, some self-hatred, angsty Destiel, no smut]<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Granted, this was not what Dean had envisioned he’d be doing tonight. In a bar, chatting up a hot woman, yes. Listening to this? No. Dumbfounded, confused, and more than a little frustrated, he tried yet again to focus on the conversation playing out before him. 

“-your argument allows for Leonard to play a stereotypical ‘Jesus’ role, when clearly his character is far too flawed to fill said role; he must be similar to that of mankind’s saviour, one who is selfless and willing to help others, whereas Leonard is clearly out to help himself and only himself by finding his John G., who, you could also argue, doesn’t even exist-”

“I concede, but when you take into consideration Teddy’s role in Leonard’s fate, twisting his subconscious to believe that he has, in fact, never killed this John G., he becomes someone akin to God. Like the Catholic or Christian ‘God’, Teddy twists Leonard’s beliefs and memories to suit his own gains and what he believes to be right-”

“Yet still your argument contains a hole! If Teddy is indeed the ‘God’ figure, then who, if not Leonard, will fulfill the Jesus role? Natalie, as you previously stated, could easily be Eve _or_ the Snake, since either could stand for original or ongoing sin. One of the only other options is Sammy Jankis, but-”

“I disagree. To me, I think the proverbial John G. could easily fill the role of Jesus. Although John G. both exists and doesn’t, - don’t give me that look, I can contest it! - he is killed for Leonard, or mankind’s, greater good, and is that not what the Bible-”

“Sorry,” said Dean, his head beginning to hurt, “but what exactly are you talking about again?”

The teenage girl with near-black hair sitting in his customary spot at the motel room’s only table gave him a withering look. “We’ve been over this. Several times.”

“We’re talking about _Memento_ ,” said the other girl, who was sitting in Sam’s spot.

When Dean still looked clueless, the dark-haired girl piped up. “2000. Starring Guy Pearce, directed by Christopher Nolan. The guy who did all the recent _Batman_ movies?” 

Dean snapped his fingers, pointing to her. “Batman. I know Batman.”

The dark-haired girl scowled, her black gaze burning as she frowned at Dean. “Forget it, Claire. We’ve explained it to him twice now. What makes you think that he’ll actually be able to understand it the third time around?”

 

_Take it in, take it in and breathe, because you are here, you are alive and whole and there is no more screaming or knives and pieces of you have finally stopped falling off -_

_But why should you, why should you bother when the walls are caked with your own slime, your own shame, you cannot escape this pit, you idiot, because you deserve it deserve it deserve it -_

_Just because pieces of you fell doesn’t mean there was someone there to catch them and keep them safe, locking them away like a good vintage. You are not old or noble or even whole, there is nothing, nothing more for you than this -_

_Idiot idiot idiot why would you be saved? What is the point to you?_

_Your point is half-full and devoid, without definition or purpose, because that was all erased and brushed away like crumbs from a breakfast plate and yet you continue to try why why why -_

_The night is cold and ugly and you cannot sleep, you will never be able to sleep again -_

_(Because there are teenagers and they are waiting for you to answer so ANSWER, GODDAMMIT)_

 

Dean quirked half a smile., restraining the urge to punch something. “I dunno, maybe something’ll stick this time around.”

Q scoffed. “I doubt it.”

Claire kicked her leg under the table. “Q. Nice. Remember nice?”

“Vaguely.”

Claire shook her head and redirected her attention to Dean. “It’s quite simple, really. The film _Memento_ is about a man who controls his own memory. He is able to do so because he has no short-term memory, and his mind can only retrieve information from the past few hours or so. He tries to remember things by taking photos of people and what he does, always having them on his person in case he forgets.”

“Right.” Dean nodded. “And what does any of that have to do with Jesus and God?”

“I’m getting there. This man, this poor, poor Leonard, believes that he must kill John G., who killed his wife. That, and he must never end up like Sammy Jankis, who had the same mind deficiency as he and accidentally gave his wife an overdose of her insulin.”

“Uh...”

“Stick with me here. Teddy is Leonard’s only friend in this world, and actually turns out to be a cop who wants to help Leonard kill his John G. Unlike most other cops, Teddy believes that killing John G. is real justice. However, as you find out as the story unwinds, Leonard has killed many John G.s over the past years. And, every time he has, he’s taken a picture. In the beginning of the movie, we see him pull out two burnt Polaroid stubs, and he doesn’t remember where they came from. As it turns out, he burnt the old pictures of him killing the previous John G. to convince himself that there was still a John G. left to kill.”

“Jeez.”

Claire grinned widely. “Yeah. Wicked, right? Well, he ends up killing a bunch of people, including Teddy, and erasing his memory again. He goes off to find his next John G.”

“All right. I get all that. So what?”

“So, we were just debating a theory of mine, in which I connect the film and its characters to the Bible.”

Dean’s eyebrows pinched together. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

Claire dropped her gaze and chuckled.

The motel room door opened, letting in a waft of saturated fat and and salt. 

 

‘ _Angels don’t eat,' he tells you as you bite into a cheeseburger that’s too big for your mouth, the juice dripping onto your wrists and down your chin and although you are practised at this, you are an experienced burger-eater, you can’t help but feel off-guard with him around, because he makes you nervous._

_He does nothing human, you remind yourself as you reach for a napkin or four, he is not human, but that doesn’t seem to stop the way he looks at you, the quality there that is somehow human and wise-from-a-short-life (the kind you were meant to be but are not) -_

_You wipe your face, pausing to throw a few fries in your mouth and avoid the urge to gag. You can’t look at him, not the way he looks at you, and that breaks your heart in ways that -_

 

Dean jumped up from the edge of the bed, diving for the paper bags of food. “What took you so long, Sammy?”

Sam smirked and allowed him to paw for the French Fries. “Soccer mom minivan right in front of me. Took them like ten minutes to order.”

“Sounds like a finer layer of hell.” Q accepted her plain cheeseburger and began to unwrap it with unhurried fingers. 

“It was,” Sam assured her, handing Claire her burger with double mustard and pickles. He looked to Dean. “Did you guys have fun while I was gone?”

Dean looked from one teenage girl to the other and coughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean leaned heavily against the slick tiles, trying to stop the pounding in his brain. Boston was God-awful during the summer; the humidity pushing down on his skull was like a clothes-press, grilling his mind with fearless abandon. The hot water thrummed against his shoulder, a pleasant rush that kept him grounded. He exhaled in a drawn-out breath that echoed around the tiny shower. 

 

_Feel the hatred, feel the pangs, because you are a caged animal with nowhere to run -_

_You compress regress digress all at once but you don’t actually know what you’re talking about and yet you pretend why why why do you pretend? What’s the point? What do you achieve?_

_Digression is your regression all for the sake of progression -_

_But your progression is infantile._

 

The water slipped and slid down his body, and Dean reveled in the grim pleasure he always felt when his taut, sore muscles stumbled around their movement. The fight hadn’t gone well, but it had ended quickly; Q really had a set of lungs on her, and her shrieking had driven the monster - whatever it was - away. 

He had known Claire and Q for no more than twenty-four hours, and yet he trusted them most ardently. He had no choice in the matter, really, because they were his and Sammy’s only weapon against the monster. 

The case had started out with an unusual amount of civil disturbance calls ringing in to the police on Monday night - according to Sam’s math, 80% more. They had just finished a case in the next town over, so they figured, why the hell not?

That was until they had found out that their opponent was invisible. 

Or, at least, invisible to them. 

The civil disturbances seemed to originate from around one area: an abandoned building near the edge of the city. Dean had thought nothing of it at first, a simple gank or exorcism and they’d be on their way. 

Q and Claire, as it turned out, had found the police reports as well, because they had seen the monster - whatever it was - slip out of the building the next day. They had watched the scene from their early-morning neighbourhood paper route, which Claire had taken for her younger brother that day. 

The two girls had decided to come back Tuesday night - why was it always at night? - and had run into the Winchesters near the north corner of the first floor. Initially, there had been screaming. On both ends. By the time they had calmed down enough for Dean to order them to leave, the monster had pushed him clear across the room and into a wall, going for Sammy next. 

Dean and Sam had been at a disadvantage, fighting blind, but, somehow, the girls could see the monster, and they had tracked it with fearful but determined gazes. It had helped, sort of, but Dean had still gotten a walloping because the thing seemed to favour him as its punchbag. That didn’t stop it from landing a few hits on the girls: Q had a cut lip and Claire had a large bruise above her left eyebrow. At one point, Q had apparently gotten sick of all the fighting and begun to shriek in a high-pitched wail that Dean thought could’ve broken glass. The monster had bolted, leaving them to their confusion.

The girls described the monster to Sam and Dean over a hasty breakfast, following which the Winchesters had dropped them off at Q’s house. He and Sam were halfway down the block before Sam pointed out, “Hey, assuming they’re the only ones that can see this thing, wouldn’t that make them the monster’s prime target?” to which Dean had shifted into reverse and backpedaled to Q’s house, where the two girls were still standing outside. 

“Get in, losers,” he had said. “We’re going hunting.”

 

_Who are you fooling, who are you kidding, shifting into reverse does nothing and yet everything because it speaks to your hesitating betrayal and your need for -_

_Try to grasp understand or plead because at least that will be something more than this, and this foul attempt of survival that you call a life -_

 

Dean shut off the water, running his hand down his face one last time. He pawed around the shower curtain and pulled the dingy towel off its rack, looping it around his hips and reaching to tug open the shower curtain - 

“Hello, Dean.”

~*~

“How did this happen, again?” Claire wrapped a thin towel around the pile of ice and twisted it shut. 

Dean grimaced as he accepted the makeshift ice pack and pressed it to the side of his head. “I was caught by surprise.”

Q sniggered from where she sat at the table playing solitaire. 

“My intent was not to harm you, Dean - ”

“Stuff it, fluffy-pants.”

“I do not understand. My pants are in no way fluffy.”

Dean winced. “Never mind.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Sam asked. 

“To... check up on you.” 

Sam’s eyebrows disappeared under his fringe.

“Besides, I was not aware that you had company.” Castiel peered with scrutiny at the two girls. “I do not recall you having sisters or a penchant for childcare.”

“Neither,” Sam replied. “We’re fighting this monster that only they can see.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked at them again. “They seem to be...” He cocked his head to one side. “Rather small.”

“Q,” said Claire in a warning voice; Q had fixed Castiel with a fierce glare and looked ready to give him a piece of her mind. “Leave the angel alone.”

Castiel was surprised - well, as surprised as he could look; his expression barely flickered. “How did you know that I was an angel?” 

Claire shrugged. “Well, not just anyone can appear in someone’s bathroom without using the front door. We haven’t left this room for several hours, so there wasn’t a chance for you to sneak in; you must have means of transportation other than the conventional. Therefore, you’re something supernatural, not of this world. You’re obviously not some kind of monster or demon, otherwise Sam and Dean would’ve attacked you on sight. Next logical step: something from the other side of the theological compass, something from Heaven. You’re obviously not an archangel, no offense, so next step down. You’re an angel. I have read the Bible, you know, and I’ve done some pretty extensive theological research. I assume that you’ve changed your name for some reason, Cassiel.”

Castiel gave a nod. “Gabriel’s teasing became paramount, so I changed one letter in my name.” He went over to Dean, bending down so as not to be overheard. “I like this one,” he said in a low voice. “She knew my name.”

“That’s nice, Cas,” said Dean. He gingerly removed the ice pack and rolled his neck. “Now for the important question: what is this thing and how do we fight it?”

Q looked up from her solitaire, rolling a card over her fingers. “Those are two questions, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, all comments and feedback are appreciated. (also, props if you caught the 'Mean Girls' reference)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is quite a bit longer than the others - my way of apologising for not uploading as soon as i'd meant to. but, redecorating/reorganising part of your house does take up a pretty big chunk of time....  
> next chapter should be up soon-ish, depending on said redecoration (we're not done, haha).
> 
> oh, and it starts right where the last chapter left off.

Dean glowered at Q, wishing he looked more threatening. “I’m more than aware of that, thank you.”

Q dropped her gaze and added her card to one of the rows.

“Anyways,” Sam cut in with a nervous glance between the pair of them. “What we have to do next is figure out what we’re up against. Without that, we’re powerless.”

“So what do you think?” Dean asked him as he replaced the ice pack. “Dig around on the internet for a while? Call Bobby?”

 

_You heal and yet remain broken, a thousand fissures in a thousand cracks that can never be fixed or filled they just wither and whittle and shake themselves down into dust and bones and grit -_

_Press it in with a Band-Aid and duct tape otherwise parts of you will drip down down down you cannot let him see that, not now, when everything is shaped and lumpy but whole -_

_Begin in your middle because there is no end to your whirling confusion and without the end there is no beginning -_

 

“WHAT?! Are you telling me that you have CIVILIANS involved in this case, and not just civilians, but TEENAGERS?”

“Calm down, Bobby, it’s not that bad - ”

“Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD? LISTEN TO ME, YOU LITTLE - ”

Dean held the phone away from his ear, waiting for the tirade to stop. Claire stared at him from where she was playing Go Fish with Q and Dean tried to smile reassuringly at her. When Bobby seemed to peter off, Dean picked up the conversation: “Listen, I know it’s bad, I do, but they’re the only people we know who can see this thing, which also makes them number-one targets. They’re safest with us.”

Bobby grumbled. “Yeah, I get it. I just don’t like it is all.”

“Yeah, and on top of having to babysit, we haven’t figured out what kind of monster this is yet. We’re sitting ducks.” 

Bobby hmmed. “Well, have you tried asking the girls what the monster looks like? Or what similar personality traits they have? Anything that would connect their minds?”

Dean paused. “I’ll call you back.”

“That’s what I thought, ya idjit.” Bobby hung up.

 

_He looks at you and oh God he’s doing that distracting thing with his mouth, that thing where his lips purse together and the corners twitch, and you can tell that he’s hiding a smile, but you ache for that smile in places you didn’t know existed, a deep-throated kind of need that scares the shit of you -_

_The blue of his eyes makes your own feel darker, because who could compare to -_

_Strength is all you have and all you’re ever supposed to need -_

_What happens when you find the person who makes you weak?_

 

Intrigued, Castiel hovered behind Q’s shoulder, watching carefully as she laid out a new game of solitaire. “You could have put that card down.”

“Pardon?”

Castiel pointed to one of the rows, which needed a red six. “You could have put the six there and transferred that row to the one two to the left of it.”

Q paused, turning over the pile in her hand and pulling out her most recent card, a red six of diamonds. Claire, who was making a decision at the vending machine outside, usually caught that sort of thing for her if Q didn't catch it herself. Her gaze shifted to Castiel for a moment before she swept all the cards on the table back into the pile and kicked out the chair across from her. “Sit.”

Cas frowned. “Why?”

“Because, Angel Boy,” she said as she shuffled the cards with surprising dexterity and speed, “I’m going to teach you how to play poker.”

 

_Never succumb because if you do you will flatten out, you will become less significant than you already are -_

_Press and turn and curve your wires because they are live so alive and they are what makes you the soldier, the machine you are -_

 

“So.” Dean sat down on the edge of a bed, facing the two girls who were perched at the table, Q sitting cross-legged on its surface. “Tell us about yourselves.”

“My name is Q, I’m sixteen years old, and I like puppies and long walks on the beach.”

Claire flicked Q on her leg, provoking a smirk. “What do you need to know?”

“Anything that’s similar about you two,” replied Sam, pen poised above a notepad. “That’s how we’ll figure out how you can see the monster and we can’t.”

“Well, we’ve been friends since preschool, and we’ve gone to the same schools since then.”

“So you’ve been friends for almost your entire lives?”

Claire nodded. “Yep. And we’re the same age, just a month apart.”

“We both love to read.” Q’s voice lilted with a minimal level of interest. “And write. And analyse stuff. That’s pretty much all we do with our time.”

“We’d noticed,” replied Dean. 

“And that’s about where the similarities end,” said Claire. “We have very similar interests, but- ”

“You’re very different people,” Sam finished for her. 

“Exactly.” Q fanned the cards out of the deck and fanned them back in. “Oh,” she added, as if struck by a new thought, “you should know that we’re both extremely unhappy with our home lives.”

Sam frowned. “As in?”

“We’ve got parent issues,” said Q, her black gaze challenging him. 

“Don’t we all?” Dean muttered under his breath. 

“So what happens now?” Claire asked him. 

“Well, I see what I can dig up on the internet,” said Sam, tapping his notes, “and if that doesn’t get us anywhere we have to go to the Library tomorrow morning.”

“And how long is this hunt going to take?” 

“Hopefully, we’ll have ganked the thing by tomorrow or the day after. Why? You guys got somewhere to be?” Dean asked.

“No,” said Q, “but she worries about her brother.”

“Charlie is fine, Claire,” Cas assured her from where he sat in the room’s only armchair, a deflated, raggedy thing. He was playing with a second deck of cards. “He is currently in bed, reading a _Batman_ comic.”

“Thanks,” said Claire.

“Just out of curiosity, how long do your alibis cover you for?” Sam asked them.

Q shrugged. “As long as you need. Our families think that we’re up in a cabin in Tanglewood - they won’t bother us, and they know we’ll be back when we feel like it.”

“A _cabin_?”

“My family’s,” Q replied. “They let us go up there by ourselves when we want to be alone. We usually spend the time reading and writing, sort of like a Writer’s Retreat.”

Dean blinked. “And I thought Sam was nerdy.”

 

_You bleed and dig and try to claw your way out, but you are swallowed by your own inhumanity, and it is disgusting, vile, you choke on it and want to heave it out of your system, but you can’t because it’s a part of you that you can’t outrun -_

_It’s hard not to stare at him in wonder astonishment awe excitement because he is so human without trying to be and you wonder how he does it, how that is even possible -_

 

“Since Sammy’s surfing the web, you guys wanna learn how to shoot a gun? Something tells me you’ll need it in the next couple of days.”

“Excellent,” said Q, “learning how to kill stuff.” She put down the cards. “Count me in.”

Dean turned to Claire. “And you?”

She shrugged and stood up. “If the angel rides shotgun.”

~*~

 

Twenty minutes later they were on the far edges of town, hidden by the cape of night. Surrounded by empty fields, Dean set up a small shooting range, which included a large wooden bull’s eye and six bottles, and loaded two handguns. He also set up a small floodlight, which he had borrowed from a construction site they had happened to pass on the way, so the target and bottles were easily seen. 

“Who wants to go first?” 

“Claire,” said Q, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. It was the first time Dean had seen her show an emotion besides smug or annoyed; he was impressed by her apathy.

“Dean, are you sure this is advisable - ?”

“Relax, Cas. Just don’t point the thing at me,” he said to Claire, handing her a gun handle-first. 

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, raising the gun with one hand and aiming it at the target.

“Now, the first thing you wanna do is - ”

Claire let loose a volley of shots, four in a row that smashed into the centre of the target, spraying wood chips everywhere. Then, she shifted her aim slightly to the left and shot three bottles in a row.

Dean gaped into the silence that followed. That was not what he had expected.

Claire turned to him, holding out the gun. “My dad was a hunter. Not your kind of hunter, the kind of hunter that kills small animals.” She shrugged. “He started me when I was eight.”

Dean took the gun. “So that wasn’t beginner’s luck?”

Claire shook her head. “The angel and I are gonna take a walk. Have fun with Q.”

 

~*~

 

“You know something, Cas?”

“Probably, considering I’ve been alive for thousands of years.”

Claire chuckled, kicking a rock out of her path. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. What did you mean?”

“I’m just surprised that you and Dean are friends. You two are very different people.”

Now a decent distance away from the firing range, they were walking in near-darkness, so Claire couldn’t read his expression, if he had one. “Dean and I have a profound bond.”

“Oho? And what is that?”

“I pulled him out of Hell and we have fought together many times. I have taken on the legions of Heaven and Hell with him and we have won.” Cas turned to face the darkness. “He has become my friend.”

“You two are close?”

A pause. “I suppose.”

“But not in the braid-each-other’s-hair-and-listen-to-boy-bands type of way?”

“Dean does in fact listen to boy bands, but only Sam’s hair is long enough to braid, and he has never taken kindly to the suggestion.”

“Dean listens to _boy bands_?”

“Of course. Led Zeppelin and AC/DC are all-male acts, as he has informed me.”

“That’s - that’s not...” Claire huffed endearingly. “Those aren’t boy bands, Cas. Just bands.”

Claire could practically hear his frown. “I do not see the difference.”

She sighed, looking up at the half-visible stars. This would be a long conversation.

 

~*~

 

“So what you’re gonna do is get a good, supportive stance, and from there - ” Dean adjusted Q’s grip on the gun one last time, “ - fire away.”

Q pursed her lips and pulled the trigger, jumping at the explosive crack that it made. Her bullet kissed the middle ring of the bull’s eye. 

“Not bad.” 

Q shrugged, shaking out her hands before aiming again. “It was louder than I expected.” She fired again, this shot only slightly better.

Dean let her fire off another one before he got up the courage to ask, “So what’s her deal, anyway?”

Q paused, her gaze fixing on him. “Whose?”

“Claire’s. I mean, she learned to shoot when she was barely eight years old, she constantly worries about her kid brother - what are her parents like?”

“Dead.” Q’s fourth shot exploded into the night and was only two inches away from the hole Claire had made in the centre.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Am not.”

“Huh.” Dean rubbed his cheek, feeling the short prickly bristles he had meant to shave off that morning. “She sure doesn’t act like it.”

Q chuckled without humour. “That’s Claire.”

Dean was silent for a moment, thinking. “Why don’t you try one of the bottles next?”

 

~*~

 

“I imagine that you could tell us lots of things about Heaven, Cas. Got any good stories?”

“Not really. In my opinion, Heaven wasn’t very interesting.”

Claire smiled to herself; it was just as she had expected. “What about Dean, though? You’ve probably got some strong opinions about him.”

Cas hummed in agreement. “He is fascinating to me. He is the only human I have ever known to have a sense of self-preservation equal to that of his self-destruction.” He picked up a small purple flower and toyed with it, as if he were amused by its existence. “At times, I worry that he will implode, but then I remember that he is not an angel, and so he has mechanisms within his mind and soul to balance his emotions and keep himself alive, if not whole.”

“What does his not being an angel have to do with anything?” Claire wondered. 

“Angels are the most obedient creatures in all of creation; they were born to serve without doubt, question, or emotion. Dean was raised in much the same way, but his loyalty and obedience to his father bred a keen need for escape because he was not bred to be a soldier. I believe that he began to resent his own personal agency and, because he was trained to do so, hated himself for wanting to abandon orders.” Cas twirled the flower before dropping it. “Perhaps that is why self-hatred is so ingrained in his system.” He sighed audibly, gaze lifting to the stars. “But I doubt I will ever know the real answer.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

 

~*~

 

“So who does she live with?”

“Whom does who live with?”

“Claire.”

Q fired twice before answering. “Her aunt.”

She didn’t offer any more information, and it was with slight annoyance that Dean prompted, “And what’s she like?”

Q shrugged one shoulder, adjusting her aim. “She’s the most Catholic person outside the Vatican. She made Claire and Charlie practically memorise the Bible when they came to live with her. Claire’s parents weren’t religious, so she made Claire go through her first Communion and her Confirmation. Church every Sunday, prayers before bed, the whole deal.” She glanced at Dean before adding, “She also made them learn the names of all the angels.”

“So that explains why she knew Cas’s old name.”

Q nodded, firing again. This shot was only a few inches off-centre. “Speaking of, what’s the deal with you two?”

“Me and Cas?” Dean shrugged. “He’s just a buddy of mine. That’s all.” 

Q noted the disappointment in his voice; she wondered if he was aware of it himself. “How’d you meet? It’s probably not every day that a hunter just hangs out with an angel.”

“We don’t...” Dean struggled to get the words out of his throat. “We don’t hang out.”

“You sure?” Q arched an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Dean hotly. 

“So then what do you do?”

“He helps us with cases. Sometimes he’ll stick around for lunch or a ride or two.”

Q fought off a grin. “A ride or two, huh?”

Dean flushed. “Not that kind of ride! Jesus, you have the mind of a twelve-year old boy.” He simmered quietly for a moment before adding, “Things between me and Cas, they aren’t like that, okay? They’re _not_.”

Q said nothing, firing thrice at the centre of the target. 

 

~*~

 

“ - and the interesting thing about Dean is that he never expects love, to have someone that wants to hold him, broken as he is, without wanting him whole or perfect. He thinks that someone will only love you if you are whole and normal.” Cas paused to consider. “Perhaps that is why he fights as hard as he does. If he makes himself more broken, he thinks it will be harder for someone to love him, and that will somehow make him stronger.” Cas made a noise of dissent. 

“What?” Claire asked. “You don’t agree?”

“I believe that love, or the idea of it, can work in ways that no one, especially God’s angels, can measure.”

“Does it have the same power as belief?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t think so. Belief is...” He trailed off, lost in something. “More complicated.” He regarded her, looking at her in a different light. “Do you have faith?”

“No, unless you ask my aunt. Then I’m one of the most devout Catholics under the sun.”

They walked in peaceable silence for a few moments, circling back to the Impala and Dean’s miniature firing range. 

“What about you, Cas?” Claire asked him. “Do you have faith in God?”

“No,” said Cas, his tone complacent but strong. 

“In what, then?”

Cas said nothing, his gaze fixed on the man leaning against a 1967 Chevy Impala under the glare of a floodlight, and Claire knew that she had gotten her answer.

 

~*~

 

“So what do you think?” Claire asked Q in a hushed tone. 

Q shot a look at the two men sitting on the hood of the Impala, their gazes turned up to the stars. The shooting range and floodlight long packed away, they seemed to have forgotten about the  two girls. “Sexual tension you could cut with a paper-clip. I’m telling you, one turn of the right phrase and they’ll be at each other’s belt buckles.”

Claire bit down a laugh. “Nice.”

Q pulled out her small wallet and slapped a five into Claire’s hand. “I hate to say it, but you win.”

“Thank you very much.” Claire tucked the bill into her pocket with a triumphant smile. 

“You know,” said Q, looking at Dean and Cas, “when you suggested this to me earlier, I thought you were kidding, but...” She shook her head. “You were completely right.”

Claire shrugged. “I guess. It was just something about the way they were looking at each other. I’ve never known anyone to look at another person with such intensity. Hell,” she added, “not even my parents looked at each other like that, and they were very much in love.”

Q’s gaze returned to Claire’s profile, which was half-exposed by starlight. She gave her best friend a little nudge on the arm. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Claire nodded, and they stood in silence before going back to the Impala to goad Dean into buying them ice cream before they went back to the motel. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, and there are two 'Buffy' references (I like to think that Dean was a fan).

“Got anything?” Dean asked Sam before yawning hugely.

Sam copied him, not bothering to cover his mouth. “Not so much. Based on what the girls told us and the sketch Q did, I’m pretty sure it’s a monster and not a possessed person. So that’s a plus.”

“I s’pose. So are we hitting the Library tomorrow morning?”

Sam nodded, closing the lid of his laptop. “Looks like. I can’t find much on the internet and there’s nothing in Dad’s journal. And Bobby’s pretty dry, too - he said he’d keep looking, though.”

“Sometimes I really do feel like Giles instead of Buffy.” Dean cleared his throat and wandered into the bathroom. “I’m gonna hit the sack in a few, Sammy. Don’t stay up too late.”

 

_Bleed and curse and whinge and drain all the things that make you pay, make you remember -_

_Blood is real but then again so is engine fuel and is there really a difference between the two?_

_You are empty nothing but a void -_

_Refuel refuel refuel -_

 

Dean fidgeted under the covers, fuming silently at the darkened room. He was exhausted, his brain and body equally worn-out, but for some terrible reason, he couldn’t drop off to la-la land.

And he couldn’t figure out why.

Was it something he’d eaten? No, he’d eaten plenty of greasy fast food in his life, and it had never kept him awake. Plus, Sam had eaten the same stuff and he was fast asleep. Booze, then? Nah, he mentally slapped himself, he’d been with Q and Claire and Cas all evening, so he hadn’t been drinking - 

He froze. Was that...?

_Cas._

There. Again. A distinctive flutter somewhere in his stomach region. 

He barely stopped himself from letting out a flood of curse words. God dammit. Q. It was her fault, all her fault, for saying what she’d said and for implying those... things. She was the one who had put this into his head, for making him want to be touched - 

Was that it? Was that what he wanted? 

 

_Get ahold of yourself, man. Since when are you such a teenage girl?_

_Lock those thoughts up tight behind the door marked FORBIDDEN, just like you always do, because thinking these things can’t lead to anything good and you are simply too weak to fight it off -_

 

Dean stilled under the sheet, contemplative. With the feeling that he was wavering on the edge of a precipice, he decided to indulge himself and fling himself off the metaphorical edge.

Closing his eyes, he unlocked the door. 

A piercing blue gaze hung in front of his mind’s eye, something that picked him apart and held him together all at the same time. It was like Cas was pushing away and distilling the pieces before carefully pressing them into a shape that he could hold, touch, murmur to - 

But more than that his swollen lips parted in an infinite smile that held every kind of happiness and things that Dean had only ever dreamt of and he thought that maybe just maybe if he were to somehow inhale it, get close enough to Cas’s mouth without touching it - 

But maybe he wanted to touch Cas’s lips, and not just with his fingers but with his own mouth - 

 

_HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING STOP IT RIGHT NOW -_

 

Dean inhaled sharply, opening his eyes. What was wrong with him? Why was he thinking those things? It had to be Q’s influence, had to, because there was no other explanation for feeling that way, for wanting that kind of closeness with Cas. But, if he was honest with himself, he always felt loneliest at night, when there was nothing between him and the rest of the world, no Sammy, no Impala, no case, and he was reminded of how it felt to hold someone or to be held, to want a trail of kisses down your neck and a hand on your shoulder because those things felt good, they were natural, human even.

He adjusted his position slightly, turning onto his side and tucking an arm underneath his pillow. He prepared to shut the door again, but before he could - 

 

_If you’re going to be honest with yourself, at least admit that wasn’t the first time you had those thoughts about Cas._

 

No. It wasn’t the first time, and Dean realised as he drifted off into a hazy sleep that it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

 

~*~

 

The morning arrived too quickly, but Dean was content to lie in for a few minutes because, according to Claire, the Boston Public Library didn’t open until nine. 

The girls surfaced from their own adjoining room while he was brushing his teeth, and once again Dean was reminded of how different the girls were from each other.

Claire was wearing a thin white button-down that she had rolled halfway up her arms, jean short overalls, and Vans. Her hair was in two perfect braids that framed the sides of her face, and she looked at him with wide-awake eyes.

Q, however, looked like she wanted to murder the sun. Despite the already-present heat and humidity, she was wearing black jeans and a grey t-shirt that had the Hogwarts crest on it. Unlike Claire, she wore raggedy low-top black Converse that she had slipped onto her feet; her heels flattened the back cuffs of each shoe, almost as if she were too lazy to put them on properly. Her hair was yet again monstrously puffy, which only added to her intimidation factor, and he wondered why she kept it so short.

“Morning, ladies,” he said through a mouthful of toothpaste. “Sleep well?”

“Quite, thank you. And yourself?” Claire replied. 

Dean shrugged. “Can’t complain.” But as he spat into the sink, he was reminded of his thoughts the night before, and he blushed when he met his reflection in the mirror. 

 

~*~

 

“ - but Q, I’m just saying that, to me, the most important deconstruction of Bilbo’s conversation with Gollum involves Gollum symbolising Bilbo’s true sexuality, which has been confined to a deep and dark cavern. Bilbo winning the game of riddles shows that he will continue to ignore and outrun his true sexuality, when - ”

“Oh, come on. The Marxism theory is much stronger! Gollum could easily be taken as a symbol of the bourgeoisie, and Bilbo the proletariat, who will outfox his oppressor no matter what!”

“Dean,” appealed Claire over the hubbub of the diner. “What do you think?”

Surprised that she had asked him instead of Sam, Dean blinked and shook his head. “The only thing on my mind is that it’s way too early for this crap.” He opened the menu. “Come on. Let’s order and get to the Library as soon as we can.”

“No, really.” Claire held his gaze. “What do you think?”

Dean looked from her to Q and back again before he cleared his throat and replied, somewhat embarrassed. “I personally favour the theory that Gollum is a representation of Chiron and the Underworld. I like the idea of Bilbo meeting and tricking his death.”

Claire smiled. “That’s a good one, too.”

Q rolled her eyes and hid behind her menu. 

Dean caught the look on Sam’s face and said in a huffy undertone, “What? A teacher of mine mentioned it back in middle school. It was _Lord of the Rings_ \- of course I paid attention!”

Q’s voice drifted up from behind her menu: “Probably the one time that you did.”

Dean fumed in silence until their server appeared. “Hi, you guys ready to order?”

“Yeah,” said Sam with a ready smile. “I’ll have plate number two please, eggs scrambled, and a coffee.”

Their server, Anne, jotted down his order and took his menu. “Sounds good. You?” she asked Dean.

“Make that two coffees, and I’ll have a stack of buttermilks with a side of bacon.”

Anne took Dean’s menu and turned to Claire. “How about you, sweetie?”

“I’ll have the French toast please, side of sausage, and a glass of milk.”

Anne smiled as she took Claire’s menu. “All right. And what about you?” She directed the question to Q, who was still hidden behind her propped-up menu; Dean and Sam could only see her fingers.

Q slapped her menu closed, resurfacing suddenly. “I’ll have a plate of hash browns, a stack of toast with butter on the side, a glass of orange juice, a glass of water, and an empty glass with ice.” She handed Anne her menu. “That all right?”

“Sure,” said Anne, although she looked skeptical as she wrote the rest of their orders down. “It’ll be right out.” She went over to the next table.

Sam was frowning. “Hash browns? Toast?”

Q shrugged, settling back into her chair. “I’m a picky eater.”

“Aren’t you just?” Dean muttered, and when he met her black stare, gave her a complacent grin. If she was going to poke fun at his expense, it was the least he could do to reciprocate.

 

~*~

 

Claire yawned and plunked the book down on the table. “Okay, it’s been almost three hours and we’ve got zilch. I say we break for lunch.”

“I second that,” said Dean, rubbing his eyes. “Will they let us bring food in here?” he asked Claire, who seemed to know everything there was to know about the Library. 

Claire shook her head. “We’ll have to eat it outside. They have a charming courtyard. ”

“All right.” Dean sat up. “What do you guys want to eat?”

Sam looked up from the massive text he currently had his nose buried in. “Uh. I don’t know. Sandwiches, I guess.”

Q’s gaze remained on the old scholar’s journal in front of her. “I’m fine with that. Get me my usual, Claire-Bear.” She jotted a few shorthand notes on the paper next to her. 

“There’s a Subway a few blocks away,” Claire told Dean. 

He stood up and stretched, cracking the lower vertebrae of his spine. “Let’s go, then.”

 

_You feed and drench and consume is that all you are, is that all you do?_

_You’re shaky, weak even at the thought of Cas knowing what you thought about, dreamt about, last night, but you could never tell him, couldn’t even make yourself listen -_

_So go ahead, distract yourself. It’s the only thing you’re good at._

 

The street was surprisingly busy for midday on a Thursday, and Claire was a fast walker. Within seconds they were past the ornate facade of the Library and waiting at the corner for the light to change. 

“You really know your way around, don’t you?”

Claire shrugged. “I like this city, and Q and I spend a lot of time here.”

The light changed and they stepped down onto the crosswalk. 

“That’s another question,” said Dean. “Why are you two even friends? Seems to me that Q is a little... difficult to put up with.”

“Like we told you, we’ve been friends since we were three. It was Q’s first day of preschool and I walked right up to her and bit her on the cheek.”

Dean chuckled. “I would’ve guessed the opposite.”

Claire smiled as they started on the next block, which led them past a small park that was filled with babysitters, children, and execs taking a lunch break. “I know, right? I suppose that teaches you your lesson, Dean.” 

He frowned. “What lesson?”

She looked sideways at him as they passed under the shade of a large tree. “There’s much more to her than you know.”

 

_Hide hiding hidden you remain, but for how long because the cavalry is storming the hill and taking you by force -_

_Screaming does nothing, it never has and it never will, and you are alone, so alone -_

_The prospect of being saved is so little and far away that you cannot even imagine how a saviour’s teeth would flash in the unforgiving sunlight -_

_Why would anyone want to save you?_

_Why would he want to save you?_

 

“Hi.” Claire smiled at the man who was helping her. “How are you today?”

“Quite well, young miss, and yourself?”

“Oh, I’m pretty good, thank you.”

“Now what can I get for you?”

“Well, I’m ordering two sandwiches, and the first will be a six-inch on Italian.”

“Sounds good.” He reached into the oven and pulled out the appropriate loaf. He cut it in half and held it open. “What d’you want?”

“Nothing but provolone and cheddar, and it’ll be toasted.”

“All right.” The man built the sandwich and stuck it in the toaster. “And the second one?”

“A six-inch on Italian Herb, please.”

Once he had her bread up and running, Claire dictated, “Roast beef and Swiss cheese doubled up for me, thanks.”

“Toasted?”

“You bet.”

And into the toaster it went. Claire ducked out of line to grab two bags of chips, a bottle of Diet Coke, and a bottle of apple juice. It was Dean’s turn next. 

_“_ Hiya. I’d like two footlongs, please.”

“All right, and what’ll it be?”

“One’ll be the steak and cheese on Italian Herb and the other’ll be tuna on Whole Grain.” 

“Coming right up.”

When it was her turn, Claire kept the first sandwich plain and piled hers with lettuce, mayo, and onions. “And a good shake of pepper while you’re at it.”

“That sounds kinda good,” said Dean when he came back from choosing chips and drinks. 

“You can try it if you’d like.”

“Thanks.”

Claire bought two cookies, one M&M and one chocolate chip, and paid, waiting by the door for Dean. 

He piled his footlong with peppers, onions, and a few olives for good measure. He put lettuce, tomato, and peppers on Sam’s, wondering how a guy could pick fish over a nice, meaty steak.

 

~*~

 

“Ah fink ee mayh a bweakfoo.” 

“Ease up, Sam,” said Claire with a laugh. “The sandwich’ll still be there after you tell us the news.”

Sam smiled and swallowed. “I think we made a breakthrough.”

“Indeed we did.” Q unwrapped her sandwich and opened her bag of chips.

“Which would be?” Dean prompted them, about to dig into his own lunch.

“The monster isn’t American, or, at least, North American. We think it’s from Central America somewhere, since the Aztec and Mayan cultures include lore that is based on the power of the mind and the love of knowledge.”

“What a snooze-factor.” 

“Hey!” Claire slapped him lightly on the arm. “Be nice.”

Dean grinned and took a huge bite of his sandwich, which was perfect and delicious. 

The courtyard was in the direct noon sunlight, but they were sitting in the shade under one of the Renaissance-esque arches. The heat was unrelenting and the air stagnant, but the fountain in the middle of the courtyard gave off a cool breeze now and again, and Dean was thankful for the relief.

 

_What now? What happens when someone who isn’t Sam or Bobby or him is nice to you? What are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to act?_

_You say that you don’t want friends, that you don’t need them -_

_Does being alone really do you any good?_

 

Q was the first one in the motel room and she plopped facedown onto Dean’s unmade bed with a very loud groan.

Dean smirked. “I sleep in my birthday suit, you know.”

Q immediately rolled off and onto the ground, shooting him one of her dirtiest looks before coming to a rest. 

Claire pointed at her best friend as she headed for the bathroom. “I second that.”

“And I third it,” added Sam with a yawn, moving past Dean towards his laptop. 

“Ya bunch of girls.” But Dean fell onto his bed with a welcome grimace. Research was definitely his least favourite part of the job. Hey, at least they had found the monster!

A few minutes later, when they were all washed and brushed and somewhat revived, Dean asked them all a very important question: “So what are we doing tonight?”

Two very quizzical gazes met his. 

“I mean,” he clarified, “are we going after the thing or are we staying in? And what are we going to do about food?”

“No tracking or fighting,” said Q in a tone that made the decision for the rest of them. “I am waayy too tired to be able to focus on some bitch with a mean south paw.”

Dean fought the urge to grin. “All right. So what are we feeding you?”

“Well,” said Claire with a knowing smile, “I do make a mean twice-baked potato...”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean chewed noisily, trying to eat the potato as fast as he could while still enjoying it. 

“That’s nasty.”

“No one asked for your opinion, Sammy.”

“Melody swamp, melody swamp.”

“That’s right, lil’ man.” Dean gave Bacchus a scratch on the head with his forefinger. 

Q frowned at him. “Don’t touch my parakeet.”  


“Hey, I can’t help it if he likes me.”

“But you _can_ eat like a gentleman,” said Claire as she slid a plate with four more potatoes onto the table. “So make with the manners. You’re a guest in this house.”

Dean shut his mouth and swallowed before taking a smaller bite.

“Thank God,” muttered Q. “I was about to lose my appetite with all the regurgitation going on in his mouth.”

“Can we please eat dinner without it turning into a carnage fest?” Sam asked, frowning over his potato. 

“No promises, Sammy.”

 

_You think about Heaven more than you’d like to admit, what your Heaven will look like, who will surround you. You like to think that Mom’ll be there, definitely Mom, all bright and shining and she just won’t stop smiling, and maybe Dad will stand by her side and laugh with abandon, the way he never did when you were little -_

_Bobby’ll be there, too, and definitely Sammy, and Bobby will have Ellen and Jo, beautiful Jo, and Sammy will have Jessica, just like he was always meant to -_

_But who will you have? The fundamental question must be asked, it can never be avoided or outrun -_

_Who do you want to have with you in Heaven? Maybe not just to have, because you can have your brother and your friends, but who do you want to hold in Heaven? That’s the most important thing._

_Even Heaven must get lonely without someone to hold -_

 

“So, uh, your parents.” Dean reached for his second potato. “They won’t know we were here? For sure?”

Q shook her head. She chewed and swallowed a bite of her potato, barely hiding an expression of disgust before continuing. “They’re at some University benefit thing. They won’t be back til really late.”

“Besides, we’re only using their oven,” added Claire. “And judging by the way you two are inhaling those potatoes, we’ll be out of here before you know it.”

 

_But who do you have to hold? Really hold, like they’re a warm cup of coffee on a terrible morning -_

_You might find someone between now and Heaven (or Hell) -_

_But who would stay? Who wouldn’t be fleeting, like a bruise or eyelash -_

_Because pieces of you are still falling, crumbling like bad plaster, foundations of a house that never existed -_

_Maybe you never had the makings of a foundation but maybe someone else could give you that structure -_

_Someone that had strong, comforting wings that would wrap around you and be warm -_

_Making you the cup of coffee instead of the terrible morning -_

 

“What is it your parents do?” Sam asked, reaching for the salad. 

“Professors,” Q replied. “And Department Chairs or whatever. They’re just really busy and powerful, so they’re not around much.”

“So you’re on your own a lot?”

Q nodded and reached for Bacchus, extending her index finger. “It’s just me and Bacchus most of the time. But I hang out with Claire a lot.” The parakeet hopped onto her hand and waddled up to her shoulder, where he perched contentedly. 

Sam looked at her, remorse mingling with admiration. “That must be hard.”

Q stared back, remaining silent. 

As Sam struck up a conversation with her about some nineteenth-century historian whose notebook they had read during their research, Claire leaned towards Dean and muttered, “Ten bucks says Q can out-geek your brother.”

Dean considered, observing the conversation. “Make it twenty and you’re on.”

Claire smirked. “Whatever you say, Bilbo.”

The nickname was more confusing than anything else, so Dean allowed his mind to wander. _Huh, this kinda feels incomplete, could we be missing someone? I wonder if Cas has ever had a baked potato. I doubt he has. He’s missing out_. And then, after a pause and quietly so that he wouldn’t have to acknowledge it, _I wish Cas were here_. 

A flap of wings later, a pair of brilliant blue eyes met his with a quizzical edge. Bacchus squawked in surprise and flew to perch on the counter.

Claire blinked. “Well, um, hi.”

After staring at Dean for another moment, Cas finally looked away and to Claire. “Hello.”

“Is it worth asking how you got here?”

Cas’s gaze shot to Dean again. “Probably not. May I ask why there is a bird in the vicinity?”

“He isn’t anymore,” said Q in a biting tone. “You did a pretty good job of scaring him away.”

Cas’s trademark perplexed frown flickered onto his face as he sat down at the table. “I am... sorry?”

“It’s cool, just don’t smite him or whatever.”

“I assure you, I have no intentions of smiting your winged friend.”

Q hummed in response, waiting for Sam to resume their conversation. 

Dean caught a glimpse of Claire’s expression. “What?” he asked her in an undertone. 

“Nothing,” she assured him, trying to hide her broad smile. “You just proved a point is all.”

“What did I prove?”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t know, Bilbo. Although I don’t doubt that you’ll think of it later on.”

Slightly apprehensive, Dean dug into his potato again. For some reason, it tasted twice as good as it had before.

 

~*~

 

Dean doubled over with laughter, his gut aching.

“Claire,” Q gasped, “that’s not how you bet. Effectively, I mean.”

“But I thought...” Claire trailed off, frowning in confusion. “I thought that if I put the chips down that I could - ”

Her excuse was drowned by their laughter. Sam was wiping tears from his eyes and even Cas was smiling, chuckling softly now and again. 

Her frown disappearing in the light of so many smiles, Claire let out a small giggle as she tossed down her cards. “Y’all are mean.”

“Yeah, we know.” Q swept the rest of the cards into the pile. 

Dean began to gather up the chips. “Another round?”

Claire yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. “I kinda wanna go to bed.”

Dean was a little disappointed, but he nodded. “We do have to be up early, anyway. All those libraries to scope out.”

Q put down the deck and stood up, twisting around to crack her back. 

Claire winced at the noise as she too abandoned the game. “You know I hate that.”

“I know,” Q confirmed. “Well,” she said as she turned to face the others, “nighty night. I hope none of you die in your sleep.” Not waiting for a response, she walked into her and Claire’s adjoining room and shut the door behind her. 

Cas tilted his head to one side as he looked at the closed door. “Don’t humans usually wish each other well upon parting?”

“Yes, Cas,” Dean replied, “but our dear friend Q is not a human.”

Cas’s brow furrowed. “She isn’t?”

“She’s actually a fire-breathing dragon.” Claire followed Cas’s gaze to the door, where she seemed to contemplate the person on the other side of it. “Stand too close, you get burned.” She stood in a sort of reverie for another moment before turning around to smile at Dean and Sam. “I’m sorry. I know she can be...”

Sam shrugged. “It’s okay. In fact, she’s kind of like Dean on a bad day.”

Claire chuckled, running a hand through her hair, which had been set free from its pigtails. “Now that is something I’d like to see.” She headed towards the door. “Have a good night, cowboys. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Claire.”

“‘night, Claire.”

In the silence that followed, Claire looked pointedly at Cas, an amused smile edging onto her face. 

A moment later, Cas got the message and cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Claire. Sleep well.”

“You too, Cas.” She gave them all a final wave before going into her and Q’s room, the snap of the door more final than it had been before. 

Sam glanced at his watch. “You know, I think I might go for a walk.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? It’s kinda late.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Sam stood up and reached for his coat. “I need some air.”

 

_You run the tap and the water is cold freezing cold and each drop is heavy, digging into your skin like millions of tiny craters that push and press and stab into you into the layers of fear and dust and self-preservation -_

_But why, why do you bother to preserve, to keep yourself whole, when the craters are getting bigger every day and you’re falling into pieces that no one can see, no one tries to catch -_

_But something about her, the way she treats you, smiles at you like you’re real, you’re there, you’re whole and will always be whole, something to do with respect -_

_It’s the way he’s always looked at you, a respect that grew as he watched you, waited for you, a weight to his gaze that you never understood but a part of you always loved -_

 

“So, Cas.” Dean went over to the fridge and pulled out a beer, tossing the cap in the general vicinity of the trash can. He smirked before continuing, “Got any hot plans for tonight?”

“No,” Cas replied, forever blunt. “I could, however, stay with you.”

Dean stared at him, wondering if the angel was aware of the implication in his words. “Uh...”

Cas’s eyes widened and he stood up suddenly. “I didn’t mean to impose, if you have other plans - ”

“No, no, not at all, it’s just... uh.” Dean’s grin was sideways as he sat down at the table. “I just didn’t think that’d you want to, you know, stay.”

Cas said nothing, staring at him. The small table was in a pool of bright light, but the rest of the room was in darkness, so his eyes were finite pinpricks that glittered with an unknown emotion. Cas sat back down at the table, not dropping the eye contact.

After another moment or so Dean started to get a little edgy, so he scanned the table for an idea. “Do you want to play another game?”

“All right. I find myself quite enjoying this game.”

“You are getting better at it,” Dean observed. He shrugged as he dealt the deck. “I prefer Texas Hold’em, but I guess you’d better stick to the basics until you get comfortable.”

“Why do you prefer another version?”

“I don’t know. I guess it makes the game more interesting, higher stakes and all that.”

Cas was quiet for a moment before saying, “Is there anything that would make regular poker more interesting? Add a concept of danger to it?”

Dean looked up in surprise. “I’m... not sure. I mean,” he said, mostly to himself, “there’s always strip poker, but that’s - ”

“What is strip poker?”

Dean cleared his throat in a sharp cough and hoped that his blush wasn’t noticeable. “It’s, uh, um. It’s basically regular poker but when you lose the hand you have to take off a piece of clothing.” His gaze met Cas’s. “Basically, whoever’s naked first loses.”

Cas’s eyes got all pinchy as he considered. “I see.”

“We don’t have to play,” Dean said hurriedly, “not if - ”

“No, Dean. I think I would like to.”

 

_Your skin your skin your skin is the last barrier between yourself and the world and you try to pretend that it doesn’t matter if he sees you because no one is ever allowed to see you unless you’re distracting them with kisses and the lighting is dim -_

_The thought of distracting him with kisses makes that warm flutter go in your stomach the one you’ve tried to ignore for a good amount of time but it’s getting harder and harder because just having him look at you is enough to send you spiraling and you don’t understand why you can’t fathom the reverence and respect in his gaze because those are two things you never deserved -_

_And meanwhile, it’s getting harder and harder to hide when you’re missing your button-down, both socks and your jeans -_

 

“Dean? Are you alright?”

“Fine.” 

Cas scrutinised Dean, who squirmed under the angel’s gaze. Cas was missing more clothing than Dean, already shirtless and in his boxers and left sock. If Dean had found his smile distracting before, it was nothing compared to what the sight of his bare chest did. Cas looked at him for another long moment before picking up a stack of four chips and placing them in the middle.  “I see and raise you ten dollars.”

Dean scratched his chin, peering at the cards in his hand; he had already forgotten what they were. He didn’t have much, but folding would be boring, so he finished off his beer and went for it. “I see that.” He tossed in the right number of chips. “Ready to draw?”

Cas nodded and abandoned three cards face-down. Dean dealt him another three and Cas added them to his hand. 

Dean traded his own cards and considered his hand. Three of a kind. “Do you want to bet again or - ?”

In response, Cas put down his cards face-up. A full house, the best hand he’d had yet. 

Dean stared at them, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He would have to take off his shirt. 

“Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat, trying not to meet the piercing blue gaze. He lay down his cards and said, “You win, Cas.”

Cas made a contemplative sound and scooped the chips towards him with he makings of a smile. To do so, he had to lean forward under the circle of light, which formed an aura around his glowing, lightly-tanned skin. Dean was mesmerised until he remembered who he was staring at, and then he hurriedly looked away. So much for a poker face.

After adding the chips to his own pile, Cas looked expectantly at Dean. “I believe there are rules you must follow.”

Dean exhaled. “Yeah. Okay.” Shaking internally, he figured that he might as well do it quickly, like taking off a bandage. Staring down at the table instead of at Cas, he reached for the neck of his t-shirt and pulled it up and over his head. The warm air hit his skin with a tingle and he dropped his shirt on the ground without a second glance. 

When he finally had the courage to look up, Cas was staring at not-Dean’s-face. His eyes were fixed on Dean’s exposed torso, his analytical gaze sweeping over the scarred but toned muscles. 

Utterly confused, Dean didn’t know how to react or if he was supposed to, so he decided to sit there until something happened while definitely _not_ looking at Cas’s chest. 

 

_Look at you you pathetic little maggot you could get any woman you wanted and yet you’re looking at the one guy who’s let you down, disappeared at always the wrong moment -_

_But then again, he did always come back_ -

 

Dean realised with a start that Cas had extended his hand, fingers reaching for Dean’s arm or maybe his shoulder. The table was tiny, so in a moment he would - 

A light brush of fingers later, Dean was out of his chair and leaning against the crappy little sink and counter situation next to the table. _This is too much_. His breath came in short chunks and he was trembling. What was wrong with him? It was just a touch, it was just a -

“Dean?” came the angel’s voice, asking the question for the third time that night. “What’s wrong?”

Dean wasn’t aware that he was saying “Cas,” until it fell out of his mouth in a tiny whisper. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers, not sure what to do or say. 

 

_Don’t pretend that a corner of you was against this, didn’t want this to happen -_

_And now it is you selfish selfish asshole and what are you going to do, just freeze up?_

_To hell with it._

 

Dean chewed on his lip and turned around. 

Cas’s eyes were fringed with worry, trying to get a read on the shaking human in front of him. However, he didn’t seem completely calm, and there was an edgy nervousness in the way he approached Dean, stopping only when he was a few inches away from running into Dean. 

“Cas,” Dean choked out, distinctly feeling some déjà vu. “Personal space.”

In response, Cas took a very small step back and didn’t break eye contact. “I apologise. It’s just...” He cleared his throat. “I saw something in a movie and I... I would like to try it.”

Dean tried to crack a smile, throw off the intensity of Cas’s gaze. “What movie? ‘Cause, I mean...” He trailed off as Cas raised his hand, reaching yet again for Dean’s shoulder. 

Cas moved hesitantly, his hand finding the imprint from where he had gripped Dean and raised him from Hell. His fingers spread over the faded mark, the blisters having deflated into patches of skin only slightly darker than Dean’s natural tone. He applied pressure, gripping Dean’s shoulder with a gentle intensity. 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat, and he looked down at Cas’s hand before closing his eyes. He couldn’t ignore the feeling it gave him, the comfort, serenity, the kind of rightness in having Cas’s hand there. 

Suddenly, he felt a new kind of touch, this one at once rougher and softer against the old blisters. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Cas grazing the mark with his lips slightly parted, moments away from becoming a kiss. 

Dean finally exhaled in a low, shuddering breath, convinced that he was dreaming, because Cas looked beautiful, and Dean had never had that thought before, well maybe he had, but he usually buried it when he could never find it but here was Cas, now and real and warm against Dean’s skin and Dean only had to step forward the smallest bit and they would be touching, chest to chest, nothing between them and the rest of the world -

But if they were that close, then -

“Cas?” Dean looked down at the angel, confused and overwhelmed. 

Cas met his gaze and moved closer, the space between them diminishing and the warmth intensifying and Cas’s mouth was just one decision away -

Suddenly, the lock in the front door turned, the handle jiggling. 

Cas and Dean stepped away from each other as if electrocuted, and it was two blushing men that Sam opened the door on just a few moments later. 

His eyes widened as he took in the scene. “Uh...”

“I should go,” said Cas, reaching for his clothing. He was gone a moment later, the sound of his wings echoing in Dean’s ears. 

Still blushing, Dean reached for his t-shirt and pulled it on over his head, determinedly not looking at the remains of the poker game. 

“What the hell just happened?” Sam asked him. He caught sight of the poker chips and frowned. “What were you guys doing?”

Dean cleared his throat, already halfway to the bathroom with his back to Sam; he was only wearing boxers, and it was pretty easy to tell what had just happened between him and Cas. “Strip poker, Sam.”

“ _Strip poker_?!”

“I’m going to take a shower. Don’t wait up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a cold shower, that is! :P
> 
> sorry for the delayed update, but i've developed carpal tunnel and it's made writing pretty difficult for the past couple of days. please leave comments to tell me what you think! thanks!  
> ~~xoxo


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not updating sooner, but Carpal Tunnel X_X  
> but this is quite a long chapter so I hope that makes up for it.  
> I'll just beg you for feedback now instead of later and yeah comment away if you'd like I'd really like it if you did and so yeah 
> 
> WOW THAT WAS ELOQUENT OK BYE  
> xoxoxo

Dean remained face-down against the mattress, pretending he was asleep while Sam pulled on his jogging clothes, because it was painfully obvious that Dean hadn’t been having a normal dream. He slumped under the sheet, watching through slitted eyes as the door closed behind Sam. 

He woke up under a cold shower, closing his eyes as the water flooded his scalp and limbs and the creases of his scars. He made a point of not looking down, because that would just confirm the dream and the night before in the clear, defined lines of day. 

 

_You pretend not to think about the way it felt, how it was so real even if it was just inside your head, the way that the poker game should have ended._

_The initial kiss would have been slow, measured, and unbelievably soft; Cas didn’t want to push you, not at first. Then you made your decision and nipped his bottom lip, and he pressed against you with a moan, the edge of the counter digging into your exposed back._

_You open your mouth and let him explore, the kiss violent in its occurrence but gentle in its execution. He wraps his hands around your torso, one firm around your midriff and the other gripping your shoulder by the handprint, holding you fierce and tight, like he was meant to._

_You shift, clutching him by the planes of his shoulders and the tufts of his fluffy black hair. You were warm, unbelievably warm, like you and he were twin suns forever entwined, never ready to separate..._

_And then suddenly you’re on the bed, pressing up against him in a more intimate, languid way. In the moments between kisses you simply look at him, and he at you, because you can’t stop feeling the bliss, the unmistakable feeling of ‘right’._

_You didn’t have to rush, just lightly investigate the dips and turns of his fluid body, pressing your mouth against his skin and only pausing to renew the pact that existed between your lips and his -_

_It seems like an eternity before anything changes, and then you realise that he’s tugging away your boxers, removing your last barrier. Through the dizzy pleasure and happiness you feel the brush of his lips against the insides of your thighs, working up to your hips and sucking on them like they’re gold -_

Angel kisses, _you think dazedly._

 

A knock on the bedroom door made Dean jump out of the forbidden memory. “What?” he barked in the general direction of the door. The cold shower was _not_ doing what it was supposed to.

“Dude. It’s me,” came Sam’s voice. “Can I shower now? Unless you want me to go to breakfast all sweaty and - ”

“Give me two minutes.” Dean considered his hand and rolled his eyes at the behavior going on in the general vicinity of his groin. _Looks like this’ll have to be a quick one._

 

~*~

 

Dean stared at the assortment of food in front of Q, unable to believe that she had ordered the same bland breakfast two days in a row. 

Q caught him eying her act of pouring the mixed water and orange juice into the glass filled with ice and went, “What?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just... Do you eat that every morning?”

Claire nodded. “Since we were three.”

“What happens if you’re out of hash browns?” Sam asked, genuinely curious.

“Cold pizza,” Q replied, taking a sip of her diluted orange juice. “Breakfast of champions.”

“I still think sausages are better,” intoned Claire, taking a bite off one of the ones on her plate. That morning she had ordered a stack of pancakes, same as Dean.

Q made a gagging noise and polished off her hash brown.

“So, what’s the plan?” Claire asked the Winchesters. “We split up and tackle the libraries in teams of two? Scooby-Doo style?” she added hopefully.

Sam nodded. “Yes, but minus the Scooby-Doo part.”

“What a pity. You’d make a good Shaggy,” said Q, smirking at Sam. 

“I always thought I’d be Fred,” he replied.

“Oh, please,” Dean cut in. “I’m clearly the Fred in this group.”

Claire chuckled. “Cas would be Scooby, though.”

“Perfect,” Sam agreed.

“Dean,” said Q, “why are you blushing?”

The whole table went quiet and Dean tried in vain to comport himself. “Nothing,” he said quickly, avoiding Q’s stare. “Just too much hot sauce on my eggs is all.”

Claire met his gaze, the corner of her lip about to twitch into a smile, and Dean bent over his pancakes, wishing he’d never got out of bed.

 

_The wind the wind it parts and weaves and wraps around your wrists with a murmur -_

_You can’t help but think of him as you breathe in this world, with all its air and dust and cobwebs, because he helped make this shining orb, he fit together the pieces of this giant puzzle of a planet -_

_The question is, can he do the same for you?_

 

The Kinara was an Aztec deity, a symbol of knowledge and literature. It seemed that she had been woken by the apocalypse, and now she was running around killing people in place of tributes. She usually took refuge in abandoned libraries or centers of knowledge, but these could vary from one-room family libraries to multiple-storey learning institutions. 

In addition, the Kinara would only appear to those of pure mind and unwavering dedication to literature or logical thinking, which explained why only Q and Claire (so far) could see her. One of the plus sides to fighting her was that burning a book could banish her from the place in which the book was burnt. It wouldn’t harm or kill her, since only the standard silver blade could do that. But, the Kinara also had the power to occasionally appear in the form of twins, which was mostly the reason for splitting up (just to be safe). 

“So, where’s Cas?” Claire asked conversationally as she and Dean loaded up and double-checked the trunk of the Impala. (Sam and Q were going on foot, covering the more local areas.)

“How should I know?” Dean replied, trying keep his voice as gruff as possible. “It’s not like he tells me what he’s doing or who he’s with.”

Claire blinked. “Oh... I didn’t realise that his whereabouts were a point of contention between you two.”

“They’re not. They’re _not_ ,” Dean reminded himself, hunching over the trunk of the Impala. “He’s just...” He paused, breathed. “He’s kind of a lone wolf, Claire. He isn’t tethered to us or anything.”

“Then how does he know when you need his help?”

Dean avoided her gaze and tried to bury his reply by closing the trunk. “I, uh, pray to him.”

Claire quirked an eyebrow as they lingered by the back of the car. “You pray?”

“Yeah.” Dean wished he’d stop blushing.

“And he replies at once? Without delay?”

“Mostly.”

Claire looked impressed, though by what, Dean didn’t want to think about. “Interesting.”

“Not really.” Dean turned away from her and focused on the appealing shine of the driver’s door. “Come on. Time to go.”

 

_You fight the urge to stop, spin into an empty lane, and breathe -_

_The dust clogs your throat, a dry mixture of sawdust and regret, and you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it, the way you want him, the keenest kind of need -_

_Not just naked and heaving under the covers, but warm and quiet and there -_

_Someone to sit with as the stars go out -_

 

“We got nada, Sammy. We’re gonna move on to the next place.”

“All right. My end’s getting pretty wrung out.”

“Yeah, mine too. I say we call it a day after this one.” Dean didn’t see the point in forcing the girls into an exhausting hunt; after all, he and Sam needed the girls’ senses to be sharp.

“Meet up at the motel in an hour?”

“You got it.” Dean hung up and got into the Impala, trying to avoid Claire’s analytical gaze as he sat down behind the steering wheel. “Ready to hit the last house?”

Claire nodded, her mouth full of French Fries. She offered the grease-stained paper bag to Dean, who happily reached in for a handful. 

“Knew there was something I liked about you.” Dean smirked at the sound of her laughter as the engine rumbled to life.

 

~*~

 

“ - that’s when we were up near Maine, taking care of this vamp nest that had gotten a little out of hand. Best damn lobster I’ve ever had.”

“Huh.” Claire looked down as she clicked the barrel of her shotgun into place and loaded it with ammo. The guns were a precaution, on the off-chance that a bullet or two would slow the Kinara down enough to stab her. “You two sure are rife with impermanence.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never had it. What’re the symptoms?”

“ _Dean._ ”

“Itchy undercarriage? Swollen feet? Floppy tongue?”

Grinning, Claire knocked against his shoulder with hers. “You’re silly.”

“No, I’m Dean. Get your facts straight, girl!”

“You may be Dean, but you’re sure as hell slow at putting together a rifle.” Claire gave him hers and took his incomplete one out of his hands.

The edge of his mouth quirked up in pleasant surprise. “Maybe. But when you get to be my age, you can be a little lazy with some things.”

“That’s true,” Claire amended. She looked up, looked him in the eye. “I still can’t believe you’ve been doing this your whole life.”

“Why? Is it such a stretch of the imagination?” Dean snapped off as he looked away, irritated for some reason. Maybe it was her eyes, the way they dug in and searched. 

Claire raised her eyebrows, pausing her assembly of the gun. 

After a powerfully long moment, Dean met her gaze again, and felt something release inside of him. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he sighed, leaning against the trunk. “Sometimes I can’t believe it, either. You know how it is,” he said, rubbing the back of his tense neck. “You get tired.”

“Yeah. I know.” Claire did an odd gesture then, reaching out with her hand and pinching a fold of his leather jacket together between two fingers, gently rubbing his arm. Her fingers were warm, and Dean gave her a weak smile before he took his gun back and closed the trunk. 

 

_You fight the emptiness, the cold of it -_

_It makes you huddle, bury yourself against the inescapable burn -_

_It follows you like a plague, something that hovers over your thoughts, haunts them -_

_Haunts you._

 

“Clear?”

“Clear,” confirmed Claire. 

Dean followed her into the main family room of the house, and they both sighed as they fell out of sneak-and-attack mode. 

“This is ridiculous,” said Claire, keeping her voice to a murmur. She opened and closed her barrel, double-checking the ammo for the third time that hunt. “I thought she had to be here - it’s the last place on the list!” 

“I’m with you there,” Dean muttered. He stopped mid-step, cocking his head towards the empty hallway on his left. “Wait a second.” There, again, a definite creak. “Did you hear - ?”

Claire let out a low gasp and fumbled with her gun. “Dean!” 

The Kinara’s hard-as-stone fist collided with Dean’s jaw, sending him flying. He felt, rather than saw, her attack, which landed hard kicks in his gut and chest. He was dimly aware of a few ribs cracking under the pressure as he was hurled face-first against a wall. 

Claire fired at the invisible goddess, the bullet missing her by what Dean hoped was only an inch or two for the sake of Claire’s pride. Through hazy eyes, he saw Claire’s gun be grabbed and tossed across the room. He struggled, stumbled, tried to haul himself off the floor, he had to help her, help Claire. 

To his surprise, he was up and standing a moment later, although a bit shaky on the whole walking thing. He wobbled towards Claire, who had been lifted off the ground by an iron grip around her throat; Dean assumed as much because her fingers were scrabbling at an invisible hand as she fought for breath. 

He pulled out his silver blade and swung at the air in front of Claire. He hit something, but a second later the Kinara’s fist collided with his face, reopening the half-healed gash she had given him a few days before. Stunned, Dean swung and grazed her, but not before the Kinara grabbed him by the front of his shirt and threw him to the ground. She stomped on his face, probably breaking his nose before she returned her attention to Claire. 

Dean watched, helpless, as Claire was knocked unconscious. Then, to his surprise, the Kinara began to drag her from the room, quickly sweeping the teenager away. 

“Wait,” he gasped, reaching for what he thought was the Kinara. In response, she swung around and kicked him in the head again, hard, and the last thing Dean was aware of was the sound of Claire’s body being pulled across the wooden floorboards, a rough, haunting sound that terrified him before he slipped into the black comfort of unconsciousness.  

 

~*~

 

The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by some great paw on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes with a groan, feeling like he’d been asleep for a week and a half. A beam of light swept into his line of vision, eliciting heavy jolts of pain in his head. He sat up too quickly, trying to turn away from it. “Get it away - ”

“Dean. Dean!” Sam’s strong arms steadied Dean before he fell. “What happened? Where’s Claire?”

Dean’s stomach lurched at the taste of blood in his mouth and he fought off a retch. “Kinara - surprised - took Claire - ”

Sam swore under his breath, shifting Dean so that he was propped against one of the walls. 

“How long?” Dean croaked, only able to see through one eye; he assumed the other was swollen shut. 

Sam shook his head. “It’s almost ten, Dean. You’ve been missing for a little under five hours.”

“Took you long ’nuff.”

Sam snorted. “Took us a long time to find you, you idiot. And we were on foot.”

“Where’s Claire?” came Q’s sharp voice from the other corner of the room. 

“Gone,” said Sam. 

“ _Gone?_ ”

“Kinara took her,” managed Dean, feeling a keen, guilty burn. 

 

Unlike Sam, Q took the opportunity to swear loudly and extravagantly. 

Sam shook his head and focused on Dean. “Status report?”

“Coupla cracked ribs, and I can’t feel my face.”

“I’ll say.” Sam scanned his injuries. “Shit, man. You might have to go the ER.”

“What?!” Dean squawked. 

“I think your nose is broken, and only Bobby knows how to set those properly - ”

The beautiful, blessed sound of wings. “I think I may be able to help.”

“We need to put a bell on you, Angel Boy,” said Q, unamused. 

“Cas?” said Sam in surprise. 

“Hello.” The angel crouched down next to Dean, his gaze sweeping over Dean’s ruined features. “These injuries are extensive.”

“I’ll say,” mumbled Dean, fighting off the gratitude he felt in meeting Cas’s gaze. 

“But you can fix him?” Sam demanded.

Cas nodded and reached forward, pressing two fingers to Dean’s forehead. 

Dean felt heat, blinding and freeing all at once, coursing through his body. His skin and bones shifted, healed, molded back into place. He blinked and everything was fine. 

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly, staring with his healed eyes at the angel in front of him. 

Cas just looked at him, his gaze burning with something hidden. 

Dean stood up, taking in his Sasquatch of a brother and the furious teenage girl. “You definitely didn’t find her?”

“Claire? No,” replied Sam, confirming the worst. “Only you.”

Dean stumbled as he went into the hallway. “And the Kinara?”

“She’s not here,” said Cas, surprising everyone. He stood and fixed Dean with those impossibly blue eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the monster you were facing?”

Dean shrugged, at a loss for words. 

“Why?” cut in Sam. “Can you kill her?”

“Anyone with a silver blade can,” Cas replied. “But I can track her and see her, which is more than you can do.”

“Let’s go right now,” said Q. 

“Let’s not,” said Sam. 

“Why?” she spat. Dean took a step away from her, on guard. 

Sam kept his voice level and reasonable as he responded: “Because we need to find a way for Dean and I to see her, too. This blind-hunter system isn’t working for us.”

Cas stepped forward. “I can help with that, too. The Kinara can be seen when she’s caught in her own reflection.”

Dean frowned. “What, like a mirror?”

“Precisely.” Cas let his gaze linger on Dean before he turned to Sam. “I can help you devise a contraption.”

Sam gave a nod. “Excellent.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Q demanded. “Sit here and do nothing while my best friend could be getting tortured or worse?”

“No,” said Sam. “You’ll be sleeping. We need you at your sharpest.”

Q scowled but didn’t rebel; Dean wished he had that much power over her. 

“Where can we get mirrors?” Dean directed the question to Sam. 

“I can get them,” said Cas. “Hardware stores are not hard to break into. I will see you all back at the motel room.” And he disappeared in a rush of wings. 

Dean sighed, staring at the empty air. It would’ve been nice, amidst all this failure, to have had Cas there, something steady to hold on to. 

Sam caught his gaze, asking him a silent question: _What are you doing?_

Dean shook his head and turned his back on the dilapidated living room. _Nothing_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know if there are any inconsistencies with the Kinara! monsters are not my strong point; people are easier.  
> there will be lots and lots of destiel angst in the next chapter, I promise...
> 
> :o)


	7. Chapter 7

The motel room was a mess.

Fragments of mirror, rope, wire, and enough tools to dismantle a Hummer were scattered across the floor; it was the picture of productivity, and Dean had never felt more useless. 

While the others spoke in quick sentences and assembled the complex contraption, Dean could only sit on his bed, his mind numbed and distracted. The low-quality overhead lights bored into him, drilling the details of the fight into a sharp clarity that Dean wished he didn’t have to experience. It was bad enough that Claire was gone, but she was his responsibility, his reason for -

She was dead, or close to it, and it was all his fault, all over again, stupid, stupid, stupid, why didn’t he learn, why didn’t he at least try to fight the damned monster off, what was the point of him, the point of a hunter that couldn’t hunt - ?

“Dean.”

Dean became aware of a hand, warm and heavy on his shoulder. He blinked; the room came into focus. Q and Sam were staring at him, apprehensive, and -

“Cas,” he breathed, his eyes meeting the angel’s. 

“Yes, it’s me.” His hand was steady, but his eyes had an edge to them - was that alarm? “Are you all right?”

Dean nodded, focusing on the heat that was pouring into his shoulder. 

Cas broke their eye contact to look at Sam, who gave the angel a nod. Without another word, Cas pulled Dean to his feet and threw his wallet, of all things, at him. 

“...What?” Dean fumbled with his wallet as Cas dragged him out the door. 

“You need a break,” said Sam.

“Something to distract you,” added Q. 

“Have fun!” Sam tried to smile at Dean before the door to the room closed and Dean was plunged into the thick night air. 

Cas was still pulling him along, the angel firmly gripping Dean by the upper arm. 

“Wait - Cas - what - what are you doing?!”

“Providing you with distraction,” Cas replied, almost dully, but damn if Dean didn’t take those words and turn them into the hottest, roughest -

“I need a drink,” he said to Cas. 

Cas nodded as they continued walking. “I assumed as much. That’s why we are going to a bar.” Even the word sounded foreign in his mouth. 

“Bar?” Dean looked around them. There wasn’t much. “Where?”

Cas let out a minuscule huff and let go of Dean. “A block away. Turn,” he directed Dean when they came to the corner. “Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing special.”

 

_You fight it off, tell yourself that this isn’t something you’ve hoped for, because you don’t want to think about how you’ll act if you get drunk -_

_Because the thing about drinking is that it dulls everything, all of you, even the parts you can’t reach most of the time, but sometimes, your words escape you, run away on a wave of scotch -_

_And you can’t let that happen, not when Cas is around -_

 

Dean focused his attention on the bartender standing in front of him. “Scotch, please.” 

“All righty,” said the bartender, turning to Cas. “And for you?”

Cas froze, eyes wide and panicky.

Dean tried not to chuckle and said, “He’ll have a Coke.”

They didn’t say anything as the bartender turned away. In fact, they were silent until he came back with their drinks. 

“Thanks, man.” Dean threw the bartender a ten. “Keep the change.”

Cas actually _frowned_ at him. “You are only drinking one drink?”

“We do have a hunt in a few hours, Cas. I got to be sharp.” Dean reached for his glass and contemplated the golden liquid. _Strange_ , he thought, _that something so beautiful could do so much harm..._ Then he looked over and saw the way a beam of light fell across half of Cas’s face, illuminating the defined cheekbones and perfect stubble and the taut pull of his jaw as he took an unwilling sip of Coke. _Actually_ , Dean amended the thought, _not so strange_. 

Cas frowned at the bubbly brown drink. “Humans are a perplexing species.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well maybe you’re a Pepsi kind of guy.”

Cas’s frown deepened as he pushed away his glass. “The name is enough to turn me away.”

Smiling into his glass, Dean took a measured sip of Scotch. 

After a few moments, both their gazes fell on a guy and a girl sitting together across the bar. It was a simple sight; the girl had long black hair and a pretty chin; the guy had a simple buzz cut and a strong nose. They were making each other laugh. 

Dean hummed and took another sip of Scotch.

“Have you ever - ” Cas cut himself off, rethinking his statement. 

Dean waited for a few moments before saying, “Come on, Cas. Finish your thought.”

Cas set his shoulders and reconsidered the couple across the bar. “Have you ever found anybody? I mean,” he amended, “found anybody... like that.”

Dean glanced over the curve of Cas’s back, watched the way Cas’s fingers toyed with the damp paper napkin his soda had been placed on. “No,” said Dean. “Never.”

They continued to watch the couple. A few moments later, two guys appeared behind them, and to Dean’s astonishment, one of them kissed Buzz Cut hello before wrapping an arm around his waist. The other newcomer pecked the girl on the temple, twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers before tucking his hand in the back pocket of her jeans. As a group of four, they wandered off to find a table. 

“Well.” Dean snuck a sideways glance at Cas. “That was a surprise.”

“Indeed.” Cas’s trademark half-smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “A nice one.” He twisted the corner of the napkin into a tight coil. “I hope they are happy.”

 

_We could be happy, we could be so happy, why don’t you let me try - !_

_You don’t know what to do, what to say, because you just can’t seem to find that solid ground you’re after -_

_Find your footing find your footing FIND YOUR FOOTING!_

 

Dean sucked in a breath of air, trying to calm himself. 

“Dean.” There, again, that hand, gentle and warm. “You mustn’t blame yourself, you cannot blame yourself for - ”

“Cas,” he choked out, feeling like he was suffocating under a wave of humidity and remorse. 

“Dean.” Harsher this time, and now Cas was trying to look him in the eye. “You _cannot_ leave. You cannot just drive off and run away from this, from being a hunter - ”

“Why not?” Dean was surprised to hear himself voicing to the empty parking lot. “Why _not_? All I ever do is get people killed, and I’m sick of all the blood - ”

“You save lives, Dean, you don’t take them away - ”

“Yeah?” Dean demanded, his voice slowly rising to a yell. “Not all of them! Not Claire’s!” His breath hitched and he covered his mouth to steady himself. It didn’t work. “It was my fault! It was all my fault! I let myself get pummeled, I let my guard down, I didn’t fight well enough!

“And now I’ve got you here, telling me what a great person I am, what a great fighter, but I’m the reason why her little brother might not have a sister to come home to! And what does that make me?! Some kind of God? A beast? Something that can just take away life and death with a snap of his fingers?” He couldn’t stop it, the way it was just pouring out of him, it must’ve been Cas, he had a way of loosening Dean’s bolts, making him run. “Because I don’t want it, I never wanted it! But who would listen? Who would care? It was just me and Sammy, all along, and I couldn’t be that person, I had to be the big brother, I had to do everything for him and leave pieces of myself behind, so _tell me why it wouldn’t just be easier to stop!_ ”

Cas stared at him. “Stop?”

Dean tucked and released his chin once; a nod. “Stop. Leave. Forget all of it.” He paused, looked at the sparkle in the asphalt. “Put myself to rest.”

Cas seemed to not have heard him. “ - don’t, you can’t - ” He sucked in a breath before saying, “Don’t you dare leave, because I don’t think I could - ” He broke off, not meeting Dean’s gaze. 

With the feeling that he was about to hit a live nerve, Dean said, “Don’t think you could what, Cas?”

Cas paused before steeling himself. He looked Dean straight in the eye as his mouth twisted in palpable anguish. “I don’t think I could live this life without you in it.”

A heartbeat. A pause in which everything came rushing forward, their conversation, the emptiness that prompted it, the whole reason they fought together in the first place, and Dean buried it, covered it with dry dirt, determined to never let it see light. “Well,” he said, “that seems a little... melodramatic. I mean, since when did angels become reliant on humans to live?”

 

_Just tell him you love him, you terrified bastard_.

 

Something in Cas’s face broke before it hardened into a thick, blank mask. “I see.”

Dean inhaled, exhaled, felt his heartbeat pound in his ears. He couldn’t believe he was still alive after saying those damned words. It seemed an eternity, the time in which the trust in Cas’s eyes  slowly shattered, dimming the beautiful blue glow. 

But the thing was, he didn’t fly away. He simply stood there and crumbled like an old pillar.

And after the most painful silence of Dean’s existence, Cas began to turn away, to walk away, like a human, and that was when Dean found his voice. 

“No! Wait.” He stopped, tried to breathe. It didn’t work. “I’m sorry.” He searched Cas’s features for a clue, a hint, a sign for him to continue. “I-I don’t know why I do that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He took a step forward, beginning to clear the distance between them. It was a simple action, but Dean hazily recognised that nothing about it was simple. 

“I know why.” Cas’s voice was low, husky. “You do it because you’re human.”

Dean took another two steps closer. “And you’re an angel. Anything like this - ” he reached out, took Cas’s hand, gripped it tightly, “ - ever happen before?”

Cas shook his head, clutching Dean’s hand just as tightly. “Not that I know of.”

Dean allowed himself a smile, because one of the most important conversations of his life had just taken place in an empty parking lot underneath a cheap street lamp, and because finally, it felt like he could breathe properly. The man he loved might love him in return, and that was all he could have ever asked for. 

And then the filthier part of him kicked back into gear. 

He stepped more into Cas’s space, closing the air of tension between them. He grinned coyly, leaning forward. “And what about this?” he said, less than an inch away from Cas’s mouth. 

Cas’s pupils dilated as he shook his head. “No. Definitely a... new experience.”

Dean smirked. “Then I’d hate to know what your daddy will think of... this.” Still teasing, he planted a tender kiss on Cas’s cheek, catching the moan that surfaced in the angel’s throat. He lingered for a moment, loving the tension. 

Cas let out another moan, this one much louder than the first. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” He grabbed Dean by his shirtfront and pulled him into a kiss that rattled Dean to the core. Thrilled, Dean wrapped his hands around Cas and hugged him as they kissed each other to pieces under the glow of an old street light. 

 

~*~

 

Two hours later, they were hauling the mirror contraption (Dean would think of a better name for it later) into the back of the Impala and Dean was trying very hard not to spend the entire time staring at Cas. He was dazed, blissful, whirling in place under the glow of a humid moon. 

He was brought out of his haze by Q, who snapped her fingers at him. “Come on, Bilbo. Time we hit the road.”

Dean felt a flash of annoyance as he stood up from the curb. “Jeez, Q. I’m not a dog.”

She snorted and muttered, “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Hey!” Dean snapped. “Just because Claire’s gone doesn’t give you the right to - ”

“ _Dean_.” Sam gave him a warning look. 

Q spun around to face him, gaze boiling. “The right to what, exactly?”

_Uh oh. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,_ he thought. He glanced at Cas, who was apprehensive, and then at Sam, who was shaking his head. 

“I’m waiting,” Q reminded Dean.

Dean blinked and then mustered his courage. She was only a teenager, for crying out loud. “It doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that, to make fun of me. I’m here to protect you!”

Silence. Q’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “Protect me?” she asked him in a low voice. “You’re here to _protect me_?”

Dean gulped, already regretting his decision. 

“Pardon me while I laugh - HAH - because that is the biggest pile of bullshit.” Q took a step closer to him. “You were supposed to be protecting Claire when you let that monster take her away. Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you tried and everything, but did you ever stop to actually think it through? Think about what would happen if you made a mistake, if you were careless? You’ve been endangering our lives - _her_ life since the beginning without so much as a second thought, and look what it’s come to. My best friend,” here her voice trembled, “is missing. She could be dead, for all I know. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Q, I - ”

“Shut up!” she nearly screamed, tears starting to fall down her cheeks. “You don’t know what it’s like to hate _everything_ as much as I do, to hate myself! And Claire was the only person who made it bearable, who made me want to stay here! She was the only person in my life worth caring about, my only real family, and you made sure that she was taken away!” Q closed in, her rage following her like a second shadow. “These past few days, you and your brother have done nothing but play with our lives, and Claire convinced me that it would be for the greater good, that we would help people by helping you. Then, and even now, I’m not so sure that that’s the case.” She paused, breathing heavily. “So forgive me if I don’t treat you like the god you pretend to be.”

At a loss for words, Dean could only stare at her with the feeling that he was falling into a black hole. 

Q swiped her hand under her nose and turned away, walking towards the Impala. 

Sam motioned starting the engine and Dean tossed him the keys without thinking about it too much; all Dean knew was that he didn’t want to drive if Q was in the car. 

With Q in the passenger seat and Sam in the driver’s, the old car roared out of the parking lot and towards the Kinara’s hideout. 

The next thing Dean felt was Cas. The angel had wrapped Dean in a firm and comforting hug, holding Dean like he was about to fall apart. Maybe he was. 

“Oh, man,” Dean managed through a humourless chuckle. “This day could not get any better.”

“Do _not_ listen to her, Dean.” Cas’s grip intensified. “She was blinded by her anger.”

“Maybe,” Dean murmured. “But I kind of agree with her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **cackles madly and dances away**  
> once again i will begin the song and dance of begging for feedback. which would be very much appreciated. 
> 
> you are all wonderful. thank you for reading!
> 
> [there will probably be 1-2 more chapters]


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait but i spent a lot of time reevaluating my life choices because of what i did to claire  
> oh dear i hope that wasn't a spoiler
> 
> well anyways  
> this chapter is a little on the short side because i have BIG PLANS for the next chapter, which will be quite long in comparison.
> 
> enjoy! and give me all the feedback!

The abandoned house was quiet, eerie, and soaked with leftover humidity. It creaked on its supporting struts, shadowed by the moon. Its windows were bordered up, the frame left to languish under the elements and lack of care. 

Dean wiped a line of sweat from his brow as he and the others advanced down the dusty hallway, Sam and Q carrying the mirror contraption between them. 

When they were set up and waiting in the living room, Dean tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat. He had a bad feeling about this...

“Where is she?” he hissed under his breath to Cas. 

“I’m not sure,” said Cas in a loud voice - too loud. The others spun around to shush him, but he just frowned and continued: “She is a very unintelligent goddess, after all. The most unintelligent, I’d say. I’m surprised that she hasn’t found us yet.”

Q’s eyes fixed on something over Cas’s shoulder. “Uh - ”

Cas turned on the spot, his angel sword sliding out of his sleeve. He swung, received a blow to the stomach, and aimed a kick at what Dean saw as empty air. 

Frowning, he glanced at the mirror standing in the corner. To his surprise, what he saw behind Cas was not empty air, but a lithe, agile woman with greenish skin and a huge head. 

“What the - ”

The Kinara and Cas became locked in fierce combat, and when she finally managed to knock him to the ground, Dean sprang forward, slashing at her with his silver blade.

 

_Inhale, scream, hold up your fists, sweat, swing, lash out, taunt, infuriate, exhale, begin again -_

_You try not to think about how all of this instinct is ingrained in your system, in your muscles and skin -_

_Everything in you is recycled, inhaled from your father and coughed up in your head, in your hands -_

_Your blood screams for individuality, but even that is part of him too, and where does he end and you begin?_

_You know the answer, knew it when you stood under that streetlamp and confessed yourself to someone else -_

_Hear that? That throbbing in your ears? The pulsing, hammering, never-ending beat? That means life._

_You’re always aware of it when you end someone else’s._

 

Dean felt a heavy warmth in his hand, his mind somehow foggy and boiling at the same time. He became aware of the long blade resting in his right hand, warm but less warm than the thing in his left hand, and the blade was sticky - with sweat? No, no, no, something else...

He looked down. 

Apparently, you could see the Kinara once she was dead. The goddess’s head was clenched in his left hand, triumphant blade in his right, each of them soaked with dark blue blood. Her eyes were open, mouth in a silent scream, and for moment, looking into her bright gold irises, he swore he could see eternity. 

A hand on his forearm, warm and heavy in a completely different kind of way. It was Cas, staring at him, worry etched into his features. “We have to find Claire.”

The world snapped back into view. Dean dropped everything, wiping his hands on his jeans, and shouted, “CLAIRE! CLAAAIRE!” He paused, feeling the desperation claw up his throat. “Where are you?!”

Nothing. The house creaked and was silent. He could feel the tremour in Q as she stumbled on nothing, discouraged by the silence. 

And then, out of shadows came the tiniest whisper. “... Dean? Is that you?”

His heart surging with hope, Dean ran into the hallway and called out to her again, the others on his tail. “Where are you?! How can we get to you?!?”

A weak, shuddering wheeze climbed his spine. “I... I don’t know where I - ”

That was enough; he knew where she was. Dean lunged for the cellar door, which was under the staircase. Finding it locked, he didn’t hesitate to shoot. Q screaming at him to be careful, he threw open the door, turned on his flashlight, and fairly sprinted down the rickety wooden stairs, descending into a dusty blackness. 

A tiny voice, getting thinner by the moment. “Dean? Where are you?”

Dean stumbled around unseen objects, turning deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of junk, calling to Claire all the while, and when he finally fell into the eye of the storm, what he saw was a less than comforting scene. 

Cas was already there, kneeling over the broken body of the teenager. Dean was at her side in an instant, Sam and Q close behind. 

Claire smiled through her mangled lips. “Dean. Hi.”

Dean fought off a sob, trying not to look at the rest of her. “Hey, sweetie.”

Claire’s face could no longer be described as such. It was riddled with cuts and bruises, her jaws and eyes so swollen that she looked like she had been stung by a hundred wasps. Her clothing had been ripped apart to expose her thighs and stomach, on which the Kinara had traced what Dean assumed were ritual sigils deep into Claire’s flesh. On her arms, hands, calves, and bare feet, the Kinara had drawn perfectly straight gashes, giving the illusion of logic or wings. Claire was barely recognisable, and most of her wounds were still open so that out of them trickled thin rivulets of blood across her unscarred skin and down to the cement floor. Dean dreaded to think what her bones would be like.

Taking care not to agitate her injuries, Dean lightly held her hand and focused on her gaze as Cas gently poked and prodded different parts of her body, his brow furrowed.

Q arrived with a gasp, immediately kneeling next to her friend and taking her hand from Dean. “Claire!'

Claire managed to smile again. “Q. Long time... no see.”

Q’s grip intensified on Claire’s hand. “You’re going to be okay, Claire. I promise.” To Dean’s surprise, she pressed a kiss into Claire’s palm. “I’ll make sure that you’re okay.”

Claire’s reply was breathy, weighted. “Thanks. You’re sweet.” Her face twisted and she let out a groan, suddenly overwhelmed by pain.

Cas rose from Claire’s body, his expression troubled, and made eye contact with Dean. His stomach dropping, Dean walked with the angel to the far corner, and Sam took his place next to Claire’s body. He and Q spoke to her in hushed, reassuring whispers. 

“I have some bad news,” said Cas in a lowered tone, confirming Dean’s fears. He went on without waiting for a response. “I won’t be able to heal her right away.”

Dean nearly choked. “But you _will_ be able to?”

Cas didn’t respond, gaze fixed on Claire. “The Kinara was a goddess, and she used a knife with a divine sacrificial power that I can’t even touch. It will take a large amount of my energy to heal her, and it won’t happen all at once. It will take time.”

“And we can’t return her to her aunt like this.” Dean rubbed his jaw absently, forgetting that he had the Kinara and Claire’s blood on his hands. He thought for a moment, gaze flitting between the angel’s pensive profile and Claire’s shattered form. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s find a way.”

 

~*~

 

Up in the maze of Tanglewood, Massachusetts, there was a cabin, small and humble but cool under the sun’s oppressive heat. It was in a small clearing off the main road, at the end of a driveway that was long and winding. It had been built with the intention of privacy, seclusion, and quiet. A large oak tree had been planted near the edge of the yard, and its branches spread shade across the land and cabin.

On an especially warm summer’s night, a gopher was pottering around near the stump of his favourite oak tree, his cheeks stuffed with a midnight snack. The oak tree was near one of those big nests that the humans built, but he knew to keep away from it. All of his friends and neighbours were asleep, but he knew that the nighttime was the best part of the day to gather food because there was no one else to compete with for the best grass or leaves.

However, the silence of the humid night was broken by the sound of wings. The gopher jumped and scuttled amongst the raised roots of the tree, staring out at the darkness. It had been a large animal, that he knew for certain, but a moment later it was silent again; there was no trace of the winged animal. Had it been an eagle? Something bigger? The gopher didn’t know, but he did know that big winged things like that liked to eat little chubby things like him. So, he waited for a few moments, listening carefully, before he left his hiding space and went back to investigating the greenery. 

Inside the living room of the cabin, Dean, Sam and Q were hurrying around, making the master bedroom ready for Claire. Cas had decided that it would be better for him to take Claire separately from the others, as she might get hurt on the way. 

“Is the bed made?” Dean asked of Q. 

“Yes, the sheets should be fresh.” 

“What about food?” came Sam’s voice from the kitchen. 

Q cursed in what sounded like French. “We’ll have to go and get some. We always empty the pantry after the winter at the risk of ants.”

“We’re here,” Cas announced from the master bedroom. 

Q sprinted ahead of the Winchesters, who followed at a more relaxed run. 

Claire was lying on the clean bed, unconscious, and Q was fluttering around her, making sure her pillows had the right amount of fluffiness. 

“What time is it?” Dean asked Sam in an undertone, paling at the sight of Claire. 

Sam glanced at his watch, the shadows under his eyes pronounced. “Almost three.”

Dean grunted. “We’ll have to wait to go to the store, huh?”

“Yeah, and now we don’t even have a car.”

“Well, I... uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “Cas and I could go.”

Sam turned to look at him, a smirk spreading across his features. “Ohhhkay. But he has to get his healing thing on first.”

“I know, I know.” 

Sam finally stopped looking at Dean like he was a tweenager with an adorable crush and turned his gaze on Q. “I think I should get her out of here.”

“I agree.” Dean prayed that his blush was fading. “She’s exhausted and she’s just stressing herself out more by being in here.”

“ _She_ can hear you.” Q glared at him. “And I’m not leaving.” To make her point, she sat down in the chair next to the bed and took Claire’s hand.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you are. Q...” He spoke over her indignant expression: “You’re running on fumes right now and you won’t be able to at least help Claire until Cas gets her conscious again. And don’t you want to be at your best when that happens?”

Q stared at him for a few tense moments before she looked away. She gently let go of Claire’s hand, placing it next to Claire’s leg, and stood up, not meeting either of the Winchester’s gazes. 

“There we go.” Sam wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders (he was probably the only one who could’ve done so) as she took one last look at Claire. He led Q from the room, glancing at Dean before the awkward pair went off to find other places to sleep.

Dean waited until she was out of earshot to say, “How is she?”

Cas didn’t look up from Claire’s body; he had his hands pressed against her side. “Not well.”

Dean snorted as he sat down in Q’s vacated armchair. “Gee, I had no idea.”

The corner of Cas’s mouth perked up, but he kept looking down; Dean could count the angel’s eyelashes. “What I mean is that there are more injuries than the ones I found during my cursory examination.”

“You mean internal injuries?”

“Unfortunately. I am fixing those first, but...” Cas shook his head. “They appear to be affected by some kind of power or spell. Every time I heal something, another organ seems to break.”

Dean inhaled sharply. “Jesus, Cas. Are you sure we shouldn’t have taken her to the hospital?”

Cas finally looked up, his eyes soft but focused. “And would you like to explain how the ancient Aztec ritual symbols came to be carved into her skin?” He said this with a touch of dry humour, something that Dean pounced on and savoured.

“No, I guess you’re right.” Dean couldn’t stop staring at Cas, at the way he bent so carefully over Claire’s fragile body, how the soft light glowed against his stubble. Transfixed, Dean distantly felt guilty for not paying more attention to Claire. 

“I will take you to the store in the morning,” said Cas a few moments later. “I plan to have her internal injuries fixed by then.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, hazy with delight. 

“And Dean?” Cas looked up again, his blue eyes gleaming.

Dean mentally shook himself. “Yeah?”

“I would be able to work more efficiently without the staring.”

Dean found it in himself to crack a shit-eating grin. “Sorry, Cas. I just can’t help myself.”

Cas chuckled in the back of his throat, his attention returning to Claire. He sat down in the armchair next to the other side of the bed and increased the pressure on Claire’s stomach. 

Dean settled into the chair with a sigh, taking the opportunity to focus on Claire. He took in the details of her injuries, the precision with which she had been prepared for slaughter. He felt these things in a remote part of his mind, a place where thoughts and emotions were separate; he thought that if he changed that, he wouldn’t be able to handle the impact. But he thought about her, about the way she would turn a page, click open a pen, the way she bounded off the street corner because she liked to start things right. He thought about her younger brother, who probably couldn’t wait until his sister got home. 

Dean shook his head, glancing at Cas as he settled into the insanely comfortable armchair. Maybe, just maybe, he could be forgiven for this... Maybe the burden could be lifted, eased out of his arms... Maybe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles manically and rolls away*
> 
> i still don't know why i devoted 2 paragraphs to a freaking hedgehog
> 
> laters, loves  
> xxo


	9. Chapter 9

A hand laced with heat and sweat gripped Dean’s. “Dean.”

Dean blinked blearily, his eyes filling with the sunshine pouring into the room. “Cas? I - what time is it?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

The angel looked drawn, greyish in direct light, but he was smiling. “Around nine. Good morning.”

Dean looked up at Cas, his mind filling with everything that had happened the night before. He grinned. “Good morning.” Dean sat forward and reached for Cas’s trench coat, pulling him in. Cas leaned on the arms of the chair for support as their lips met, chaste and dry. 

Dean pulled away, running his thumb along Cas’s jawline, still marveling at their closeness and how easy it was to do this. “How is she?”

Cas’s smile hitched and his forehead crinkled. “Her insides are healed and she is stable, but I will need some more time to bring her to consciousness.”

“In the meantime,” piped up Q’s voice from the other side of the room, “you should probably go to the store and save us all from potential starvation.”

Dean jumped violently, nearly smacking Cas’s forehead with his own. “Have you - ?”

“Been here the whole time?” Q rolled her eyes. “No, but long enough to catch your PDA. I should care to inform you that it’s rather disgusting, but Claire would call it cute and swat me away for disagreeing.” Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence and her gaze shifted back to her slumbering friend. 

“That she would,” Dean agreed under his breath. He nudged a startled Cas to the side and stood up, straightening his sleep-rumpled t-shirt. He finally looked at Claire; her skin was a little brighter, instead of pale and bloodless, and her breathing was even. Her facial injuries were mostly healed, so she looked more like herself. “She’ll be better soon, Q. I promise.”

Q shot him a look, one that was empty and vulnerable, and Dean remembered with a tremour of guilt what had happened the last time he had promised her something. 

Sam appeared in the doorway, eyes brightening at the sight of his awake brother. “Morning.”

“Hey, Sammy.”

“You two should get going,” Sam said to them. “We haven’t eaten in over twelve hours and Q, well...”

“A hungry Q is a grumpy Q,” Q informed them.

“Message received and understood,” Dean assured her, dragging Cas from the room. Sam closed the door behind them, probably trying to keep it quiet for Claire’s sake.

Dean took the excuse to seize Cas by the hand and pull him towards the living room. Once they were out of Sam and Q’s earshot, Dean looked Cas dead in the eye and said, “How are you holding up?”

Cas’s expression flickered. “I am - ”

“If you say ‘fine,’ I will smack you over the head.”

Cas was silent for a moment, eyes squinty and considering. “I am... fatigued.”

“I could tell as much.” Dean squeezed Cas’s hand. “This is taking up a shit-ton of your power, and you won’t be able to heal her all at once. You need to rest.”

“And I will after we get back from the store. But Dean, I can’t just leave her unconscious until tonight, or maybe even tomorrow.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that when we get back from getting food, I plan to work on Claire for another hour or two to ensure that she retrieves consciousness.” Cas looked pleadingly at Dean. “She needs to wake up more than I need to rest, Dean.”

Dean was silent for a moment, considering. “Okay. We can tell Q and Sam to dress her wounds and cover her with a blanket so she doesn’t freak out when she wakes up and can’t hardly move.” Dean looked at Cas, exhaling deeply. “Actually, it’s probably for the best if she wakes up. She can’t go much longer without food, either.”

Cas nodded.

“But after that,” Dean said, poking a stern finger into Cas’s chest. “You. Bed. Sleep.” His brow puckered. “Is that how you angels get your batteries recharged?”

Cas shrugged. “It’s either that or I touch your soul.”

Dean grinned broadly and decided to be a cheeseball. “I believe you’ve already done that.”

Cas scoffed and grinned back. “Oh, that was just low - ”

Dean silenced him with a kiss.

 

~*~

 

“Dean, I... what is a Ho-Ho?”

“Delicious.” Dean grabbed a box and threw them into the cart. 

“But are they of stable nutritional value to a recovering... girl?”

Dean could hear the dropped ‘torture victim’. “Not especially, but Sammy will be happy to see these. They were his favourite dessert back in elementary school.”

They continued down the aisle, Dean telling Cas about different kinds of wonderfully unhealthy snack foods. He considered this pretty ironic, given that they were heading for the canned soups and boxed broths. 

Dean began to load up the cart with an assortment of Progresso and Campbell’s, grabbing a few chicken broths while he was at it. 

“Are these for Claire?” Cas asked him, peering at the ingredients on a can of Tomato Bisque.

Dean nodded, counting how many they had. “I don’t want to force anything too harsh into her system while she’s still recovering.” He added another four cans to the cart.

“That is wise.” Cas replaced the can and glanced around the rest of the store. “Do you humans ever get tired of doing this? Searching for food?”

Dean chuckled as they moved on. “I don’t know if you’d call it ‘searching’, Cas, but yeah, I guess some of us do.” He shrugged. “I never really minded it.”

“Why?” Cas looked intrigued.

Dean fought off a blush. “I dunno... It was just... comforting, in a way. I guess. It was usually easier than being in some seedy motel room, or at a school that didn’t care, or in a car that took us farther and farther away from what we knew.” He toyed with a small can of Campbell’s Chicken and Stars. “Buying food is one of the easiest things a person can do, Cas.” 

Cas was staring at him, something like awe mingling with his grin.

Dean shifted, uncomfortable, and dropped the can back into the cart. “What?”

Cas shook his head, coming closer. “Nothing. Just you.” He kissed Dean, easy and slow. Dean smiled against Cas’s lips, his heart curling into a coil of content. 

Dean eventually made himself pull away, knowing that they were in public. “Come on.” He nudged Cas’s shoulder with his own. “Now we have to find some real food for Sasquatch and the Jumping Bean.”

 

~*~

 

The second they rematerialised into the air-conditioned cool of the cabin, Q flew at them with desperate hands, clawing the shopping bags off them with haste. “Please tell me you at least got bread!”

Dean readily let go of the bags. “And two extra-large frozen cheese pizzas. Just for you.”

Q stared at him like he was a two-headed emu. After a moment, she said, “I could kiss you right now, but I think I’ll leave that to Cas.” Her eyes shifted to the angel. “Well, go on. Show him how thankful I am,” she said, trying and failing to make her voice sultry, before rolling her eyes and turning her attention to the oven. 

Cas cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “I definitely will,” he said in a voice low enough for only Dean to hear; a shiver went down Dean’s back. “Just not right now.” He caught Dean’s expression and glanced meaningfully towards the long hallway that led to the only guest bedroom. 

Dean gulped and tugged at his collar; the air-conditioning must’ve stopped working for a few minutes. 

Sam chose that moment to appear, gently closing the door to Claire’s room behind him. “Oh, hey. You’re back!” And like Q, he leapt on the shopping bags scattered across the counter, digging for his rabbit food.

“You’re in luck,” Dean informed him. “There are like three heads of lettuce for you to get through, and they were having specials on both Italian dressing and tomatoes. So you can salad yourself out for a few years or so.”

Sam scoff-laughed. “Thanks, Dean.”

Cas had done some angel magic and had managed to sweep the piles of filled grocery bags into one transport; the kitchen was covered in them. In addition, before they had gone grocery shopping, they had gone to the motel and cleared out everyone’s stuff, including the two girls’, and checked out of their rooms. Everyone’s duffels sat in a small pile in the corner, having gone along for the ride. And while they were at the motel, Cas had had enough patience to let Dean move his Baby into a more secure parking lot.

Cas turned to Dean, a light frown in place. “Aren’t you eating?”

Dean considered, looking at the piles of food Q and Sam were pulling out of the bags. He wasn’t that hungry, surprisingly, but he grabbed a Ho-Ho for old time’s sake. 

“So Cas,” Q said around a bite of bread, which Dean assumed was a placeholder until the pizza was ready, “when are you gonna get your healing thing on again?”

“Momentarily.” Cas was glancing at the food, much to Dean’s astonishment. 

“Are you really gonna eat something?” Dean asked him before taking mouthful of artificially-flavoured chocolate cake.

“I’m... considering it. I do need all the energy I can get.” Cas’s light frown reappeared as he reached for one of the organic, bushy-ended carrots Dean had bought for Sam. Everyone stared as Cas lifted the vegetable to his mouth and bit off a large chunk, chewing carefully. 

A moment later his expression flattened and he swallowed the bite with what appeared to be difficulty. His eyes got all squinty and he handed the carrot to a bemused Sam. “That did not taste as I expected it to,” he informed them before turning on his heel and walking back to Claire’s room. 

Dean and the others doubled over in silent laughter.

 

~*~

 

“Only...” Cas drew a breath, his face pale and shining with exertion, “... a few more moments now.” As a final gesture, he raised his hand from Claire’s arm to her head, passing over her eyes. Then, he stood up, allowing Q to claim his chair, and joined Dean on the other side of the bed. 

“You guys covered everything up, right? Even her legs?” Dean looked at Q and Sam, even though he had asked the question twice before.

“Of course,” Q assured him. “She won’t be able to see a thing.”

Dean nodded and watched Claire carefully for any signs of consciousness. Her entire body was swaddled by the blanket, only her bandaged left arm protruding from the cocoon for Q to hold onto. 

And then, the room seemed to hold its breath, and Claire’s eyes flickered open. 

“Thank God,” Dean breathed as he squeezed Cas’s hand.

Q actually managed a smile. “Welcome back.”

Claire grumbled to herself, shifting a little under the covers. “How long was I out?” she asked, her voice croaky with dehydration.

“Twelve hours, give or take,” Q replied. “How do you feel?”

“Like a distressed damsel. And really...” Claire frowned, “... warm. And thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Q volunteered before leaving the room.

“Hi, Claire.” Sam smiled at her; Claire’s focus was solely on his side of the room. 

She tried to smile back. “Hi, Sam. What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” he replied, stepping closer, “but I was just about to ask you the same question. How much do you remember?”

Claire frowned again and shook her head minutely. “The Kinara knocking me out. Then I woke up here... Where is here, anyway?”

Dean finally spoke up: “Q’s family cabin, up in Tanglewood.”

Claire turned slowly to look at him, her smile reappearing. “Hi, Dean.” Her gaze shifted to Dean’s right. “Hi, Cas.”

“Hiya, sweetie.” Dean tried a grin, hoping it didn’t look too forced.

But Claire was hardly paying attention to his face; her gaze had fixed on Dean and Cas’s clasped hands. She let out a low gasp. “No. Way.”

Q reappeared, glass of water in hand. “Yes way. At least they’ve stopped mooning over each other.”

“But - but - !” Claire managed a very hoarse squeal. “That means you two are - ?”

“Yes, we are together,” said Cas, but he wasn’t smiling; in fact, he looked worried. He bent to Dean’s ear and muttered, “Perhaps we should leave - this is making her pulse erratic and I fear that if her excitement continues my numbing spell on her injuries will wear off.”

That decided it. They both stood up, hands parting ways. 

Claire’s smile faltered. “Where - where are you going?”

“Cas just spent half the night and most of today healing your head, Claire,” Sam explained, “and Dean was standing by the whole time. They need to rest.”

Dean held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t question the healing too much. He promised himself they would explain it all to her later, when she was a bit stronger and had food in her. 

“Oh.” Claire relaxed. “Mmmkay.”

“Here.” Q leaned forward with the glass of water. “Drink this.”

Claire obliged, letting her friend tip the water into her mouth. 

“Feel better,” said Dean before he and Cas left the room. 

Sam stepped out with them and half-closed the door behind him. “There’s a guest room set up for you two down the hall,” he said in a low voice. “There’s a small bathroom, too. Q and I made sure there were fresh sheets and towels. I’ll wake you up in a few hours; around five, maybe six.” A smirk flickered across his features. “Just keep the volume down, all right?”

“Shut up.” Dean blushed and turned away as his brother went back into Claire’s room, expression triumphant. 

“Dude.” Dean laced his fingers through Cas’s as they walked slowly through the kitchen and living room area. “I am so ready to go to sleep.”

Cas smiled lazily. “Oddly enough, so am I.” He yawned and swayed on his feet. “It is so strange to be tired.”

“Get used to it,” Dean advised him as they closed in on the quiet hallway. Now that they were out of earshot, Dean pressed Cas against the wall and kissed him, soft at first but gradually deeper and dirtier. When Dean pulled away, he was panting. “Cuz I don’t plan on letting you sleep much more after this.”

Cas gasped sharply, eliciting a chuckle from Dean, and they wandered, hand-in-hand towards the comfortable guest room and the promise of sleep. 

 

_This comfortableness, this domesticity, this reality of togetherness is blinding, brightening, glowing with joy -_

_In your dreams, it is no more than a ball of shining energy, growing and growing, expanding throughout your chest -_

_But a part of you still wonders, still fears -_

_What happens when he sees what’s inside you for the first time?_

_What happens when you are bare?_

 

“So, um...” Cas’s forehead puckered as he looked at the queen bed in front of them. “How does this work, exactly?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you watched me sleep before?”

“Yes, but observing something a thousand times doesn’t guarantee - ”

“Wait.” Dean grinned coyly. “You’ve watched me a thousand times?”

Cas blushed in embarrassment but smiled nonetheless.

Dean chortled. “Well, it’s fairly simple. Just decide what you want to sleep in and climb under the covers.” When Cas continued to look confused, Dean added, “I sleep in my boxers, sometimes with a t-shirt.” He shrugged. “You could do the same, if that sounds comfortable.”

Cas nodded. “That does, surprisingly.”

“Cool.” Somewhat nervous, Dean went ahead and kicked off his boots, pulling off his filthy t-shirt and stepping out of his equally filthy jeans. He clambered under the blissfully cool sheets before he looked at Cas, and when he did, he forgot how to breathe.

Cas was taking his time with his clothes. The trench coat was hung carefully over the edge of a chair, his jacket and pants following suit, his shoes placed underneath the chair. His legs were lithe, strong, the muscles taut and toned. Cas then tugged at his tie, loosening it gradually, before pulling it off his neck and draping it over his pants. His movements measured and languid, he unbuttoned the shirt in a fluid motion before bending his arms to slide it off. His chest was everything Dean remembered, muscular and wiry, strong in small ways. Unaware of Dean’s staring, Cas pulled off his socks and treated them with equal care before finally looking up. “What?” he asked of Dean, bashful.

Dean shook his head. “Nothing, it’s just...” He inhaled quickly. “You’re sort of beautiful, Cas.”

Cas was stunned, motionless for a moment before he moved closer to the bed. Dean leaned back as the angel leaned forward against the mattress, bending to kiss Dean slowly, tenderly. Dean pulled him closer, nearly flush against Dean’s exposed skin, and Dean realised with a shiver that this was a kind of closeness he had never had before. 

After a few moments of bliss, however, Dean felt the grim tide of fatigue lap against his brain, and he pulled away with a disappointed sigh; Cas continued to pepper Dean’s neck with kisses. “Cas, as much as I am loving this right now, I got to go to sleep.” 

Cas looked up, his eyes sleepy. “I agree, Dean.” He shook his head. “Being tired is a very different experience - it tends to get in the way of a lot of things.”

Dean chuckled. “I agree wholeheartedly. C’mon.” He lifted the covers to let Cas burrow underneath. “I promise cuddling is just as great.”

Cas huffed a laugh and clambered in, his back to Dean’s chest as he lay down against the pillows. He pressed in against Dean, warm and soft. Dean smiled without realising he was doing so, and wrapped an arm around Cas’s waist. Cas didn’t hesitate to grip Dean’s hand, holding him tightly under the covers.

Reveling yet again in their closeness, Dean snuggled in against the pillows and gave Cas’s shoulder an open-mouthed kiss. “If you tell anyone we snuggled, I’ll break your nose.”

Cas laughed softly into his pillow, and it was the last thing Dean heard before sleep claimed him and he was lulled into the gentle, warm black of suspended consciousness.

 

~*~

 

Too soon after that, a sharp rap sounded at the door. Dean groaned, keeping his eyes shut. “Five more minutes, Sammy!”

Sam chuckled. “All right. Dinner’ll be ready in a few; just make sure you’ve got all of your clothing on before joining us.”

Dean ignored his brother and yawned. He opened his eyes, blinking in the light, and was surprised to find Cas’s pale back not two inches away. “Cas,” he said, his voice rough with sleepiness, “did we even move?”

A loud yawn surfaced from the angel. “Apparently not.” He squirmed, turning to face Dean with a sleepy smile. “Hello.”

Dean smiled back. “Hello.” He took the opportunity to kiss Cas on the forehead and nose before running his fingers through the angel’s fluffy black hair. Dean’s exhale turned into a sigh. “As much as I’d like to lie here all day and night, we have an injured girl to take care of.”

Cas nodded. “Agreed.” He snickered. “Although I am quite sure the bed will be here when we return.”

“God, I hope so.” 

 

~*~

 

“...time to go to sleep now, okay?” 

Claire’s lidded gaze searched for Q’s. “Mmkay,” she breathed, but seemed unwilling to let her eyes shut. 

Q chuckled under her breath. “I promise we’ll all be here when you wake up. But you need to rest, Claire. That’s the only way your head’ll get better.”

Claire’s eyebrows pinched together. “I know, I know. Do you promise...” She paused for breath. “Do you promise that tomorrow you’ll tell me why my arm’s all wrapped up?” Her frown deepened. “And why I can’t feel most of my body?”

Dean sent Cas a worried glance, his anxiety reflected in Q’s eyes; none of them liked lying to Claire. 

“It’s all just part of the healing process,” Q assured her. “And I’ll tell you whatever you want to know in the morning.” 

Claire’s frown disappeared and she relaxed with an easy smile. “Okay. That’s good.” She let out a little sigh before sinking deeper into the pillows, her eyes finally closing. 

After a moment, Q stood up silently and left the room, letting Cas take her place next to Claire. His shirt cuff rolled up, Cas laid a hand on Claire’s arm, his expression focused and thoughtful. 

Claire soon relaxed under the weight of Cas’s hand, and Dean averted his gaze as she sank into unconsciousness. Cas noticed and said, “She doesn’t know, Dean.” To which Dean replied, “That doesn’t make it any better.”

Cas looked away but nodded. “I look forward to when we can tell her what we’re doing.”

“It’ll be tomorrow,” Dean said firmly. 

Q chose that moment to reappear, a rectangular object in hand; she was holding a well-used paperback book, its cover a mélange of black and white. She caught Dean’s eye and threw it to him from the doorway. “Here.”

Dean caught the book with a frown. “What is it?” 

Q glanced at Claire’s supine form. “One of her favourite books. I figured it would help pass the time if you read to her.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at her reluctance to join them. “You won’t be staying with us?”

Q didn’t respond for a few moments, then shook her head. For the first time, Dean saw the extent of Q’s exhaustion in her expression, and then remembered that she had gotten less sleep than he had in the past couple of days. “I think I need to rest for a while,” she said, tucking a chunk of resolutely puffy hair behind her ear. “But I’ll sit with you tomorrow.” She gave a nod towards the book. “Enjoy it. It’s a good one.” And then she was gone, the doorway holding no trace that she was ever there.

“Goodnight,” Dean called after her, but got no response. 

“What’s the book?” Cas asked him.

Dean peered at the cover. “ _Everything is Illuminated_ by Jonathan Safran Foer.” His brow puckered. “Ever heard of it?”

Cas shook his head, intrigued. 

“Well,” Dean sighed, opening up to the first page. “Here goes nothing.” He cleared his throat and looked at Claire again, reminding himself of why he was there. “Chapter One: ‘An Overture to the Commencement of a Very Rigid Journey... My legal name is Alexander Perchov...’ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahaha WHOOPS make that two more chapters after this - sorry, but I didn't want to make this chapter horrendously long.  
> there will be more cute/slightly smutty stuff and inner monologue in the next chapter.
> 
> so close to the end!!  
> I'll be posting the last two chapters in the coming week, if not a bit earlier.  
> I'm not quite yet sold on writing an epilogue, but I'd be happy to if you ask for one :)
> 
> p.s. "everything is illuminated" is a wonderful book and if you haven't read it go do that right now!


	10. Chapter 10

“ ‘I had to do it for myself.’ ” Dean paused, feeling the cruelty of Yankel’s wife. “ ‘I am not sad.’ ” He let out a shaky breath and closed the book. 

When Dean looked up, he found Cas’s gaze fixed on him. “That book,” said the angel, gently lifting his hands from Claire’s arm, “is fantastic.”

Dean nodded, running his hand across the smooth cover. “It was a bit weird at first, but you know...” he trailed off, tracing the title with his finger, “I kind of like it.”

Cas huffed a laugh, too exhausted for a real one, and stood up like he was waiting for his joints to fit back together. 

Dean mimicked him and stretched his arms skyward, fully aware that he was exposing a few inches of his stomach while doing so. And if he caught Cas looking, it absolutely did not stroke his ego. He relaxed with a groan, putting the book down on his empty chair. “How is she?”

A tiny, if proud, smile tugged on Cas’s mouth. “Take a look,” he replied, gesturing to Claire’s bandaged arm.

His breath hitching in anticipation, Dean walked around the bed and joined Cas. Reminded of the times he had had to carry Sam into bed without having him wake up, Dean reached for Claire’s limp arm with careful hands. Keeping his fingers light, he lifted her arm slightly and untucked the end of the bandage from where it was taped against her palm. He slowly unraveled the first three loops, exposing her skin to the low yellow light emitting from the bedside lamp. Holding her arm as if it were porcelain, Dean peered at the cuts. 

A moment later, his brow flickered in surprise. “Wow. That’s unbelievable,” Dean breathed, his finger tracing the skin around the wounds. Instead of being open and gaping, as they had been the previous day, the cuts were halfway shut, the exposed underskin covered with a light film similar to a scab. “Is her whole body like this?”

Cas nodded. “The upper half more so than the lower half, yes.” 

Dean looked at the cuts again and felt a stab of guilt. “Are they going to scar?”

“No,” Cas replied, “absolutely not. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank God,” Dean muttered, reaching for the bandage. He rewrapped Claire’s arm, taking care to make it look the same as it had before. When it was done, he adjusted the duvet so that it lay evenly across her chest. “There you go,” he murmured, even though she couldn’t hear him. 

There was a pause before, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I believe that I need to sleep again.”

Dean allowed himself a grin. “Yeah, Cas. We’ll go.” But he made no move to leave, and he hovered next to the bedside lamp, about to turn it off. A wave of remorse consumed him, and his throat bobbed as he bent to kiss Claire on the top of her head. “Sleep tight,” he murmured as he straightened, his arm bumping against Cas’s. Dean reached for the lamp and tugged the string, turning it off; the room was thrown into an almost pitch-black darkness, the glow of moonlight causing the air to gleam.

Without a word, Dean and Cas left the room, softly closing the door behind them. The kitchen was illuminated by the light under the stove hood, and the living room was partially lit. Dean frowned at his brother, who was sitting on one end of the couch reading a newspaper. Sam glanced at the other end of the couch and shrugged.

“Seriously?” Dean asked him in a low voice, biting back a smile.

Sam grinned and shook out his paper. “What can I say, Dean? Girl was tired.”

“But isn’t she stealing your mattress?”

“Yeah, I’ll put her to bed in a while.”

Dean considered the sleeping girl. “You sure she’ll let you?”

Sam chuckled. “That’s why I’m waiting - I want to make sure she’s out cold before I move her.”

“Good idea.”

“Wait, Dean, I don’t understand.” Cas stepped forward, regarding the couch with a frown. “How is that a comfortable position for Q to be sleeping in?”

Dean shook his head. “I have no idea.” He turned to smirk at the angel. “But I’m not about to question it, are you?”

Q was curled into an impossibly tight ball, her back pressed against the couch cushions and her head curled into the corner of the arm. For once, her hair was thrown away from her face, exposing her pale neck and jaw. Her expression was clear, her mouth pulled out of its usual disapproving twist, and when her eyes were shut, they were much less challenging. Q was at peace, clear of disapproval and boundaries. And, oddly enough, she looked small. She looked scared.

 

~*~

 

“Do you dream?” Dean found himself asking as he and Cas burrowed underneath the covers once more. 

Cas considered as they fell into their cuddling position, which was akin to second nature. “If I dreamt earlier today, I do not remember it. But perhaps I did.” He began to smile; Dean could see the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I will try to be more aware of it tonight.”

Dean smiled even though Cas couldn’t see him, and closed his eyes. The lights were already out, the cabin was still, and the night was serene. He told himself to breathe, to calm down, because he was anything but calm; he was agitated, feeling like electricity was crackling underneath his eyelids and out of his extremities. But he couldn’t tell if it was the result of excitement or fear, but the mere knowledge of it numbed him, gave him tunnel vision.

Cas was still, breathing evenly, but it was impossible to tell if he was asleep or not. It didn’t help that he was warm, impossibly warm, creating a presence, a pressure that dug into Dean’s skin, rattling him to the core. Fully aware that there was nothing between them except for a decision and two thin pairs of boxers, Dean shivered lightly and tried to inconspicuously toss a corner of the blanket off himself to get some cooler air.

Trying to distract himself proved to only make things worse; Dean was lost in thoughts of Cas’s swollen lips, his strong arms, the curve where his neck and shoulders met, the resilience and age in his beautiful hands, and then his mind spiraled into images of Cas’s hands holding, clasping, caressing, treasuring, feeling -

“Dean?” 

Dean froze, his eyes flying open, because that one word, that one question, held so much weight. It was surprised, if a bit uneasy, curious, reverent - even hungry, because Cas could _feel_ Dean, feel Dean pressed up against the back of his thigh, pushing into the thin boundaries of their clothing -

Dean’s face flooded with heat. “Cas, I - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - ”

But Cas was shifting, turning to face Dean, his eyes sparkling. “I never thought you would.” And he extinguished Dean’s startled gasp with his mouth, sucking on Dean’s lower lip as if his life depended on it. Dean succumbed with a desperate moan, one hand sliding along Cas’s back to pull him closer, pulling him flush while his other hand carded through the angel’s hair. 

“Cas,” he gasped a few moments later, finally finding the strength to pull away. “Are we really doing this right now?”

In response, the angel disappeared under the covers and began decorating Dean’s torso with lines of sucking kisses, his teeth grazing Dean’s ribs. 

_Oh well,_ Dean thought helplessly, _I’m fucked_. 

 

_It’s slow, unassuming, a push and pull with an equal give and take -_

_You do anything you can to draw him closer, to feel his skin against yours, because it’s bliss, the highest ecstasy, and gradually it becomes more than just two puzzle pieces fitting together, it becomes an explosion of unity -_

_Because everything about it is so real; you chuckle into his shoulder when he bites the ticklish spot under your neck, he grins at you when you kiss his elbow because he hit his funny bone on the bed frame -_

_It’s gradual, this process, this path to bareness, to complete nudity, because even though your clothes are gone, there is still so much around you, so much between you and the world that it takes time for him to break through the mortar and let in those chinks of light -_

_But when he does, it’s like being saved all over again; he drags you into a world you forgot about, into a light that is simply too bright for your dark and burnt soul -_

_But he’s gentle, caressing your broken pieces in the name of comfort and intimacy -_

_So when you finally press into him with the name of the Lord on your lips, there is nothing you can do but admit that this is a whole new kind of rapture._

 

The sunlight warm on his back, Dean inhaled deeply and opened his eyes.

A pair of baby blues stared back at him.

Dean blinked slowly, savouring the moment as he grinned. “Hi.”

Cas grinned back. “Hi.”

“I... feel...” Dean stretched languidly, his toes reaching under the covers, “... awesome.”

Cas reached for Dean’s hand and grasped it. “As do I.” He pressed a lingering kiss to the back of Dean’s hand. “Now I know what all the fuss is about.”

Dean’s laugh rumbled into the pillows, and after it died away, they lay there in silence, comfortable and content.

Then, reality came crashing back in and Dean glanced at the bedside clock with a lightly suppressed groan. “Shit. What time is it?”

“Quarter past eight.” Cas squeezed his hand. “Claire isn’t awake yet.”

“Good.” Dean shifted under the covers but made no real move to get out of bed. “Ugh, I need to shower.”

Cas’s brow puckered. “Do you _have_ to? You had one yesterday.”

Dean chuckled. “Yes. Besides, we can’t just wander out there with sex hair.” He paused, considering Cas’s appearance. “You could, um... you know.”

“I could what?”

Dean swallowed. “Join me.” He knew that Cas could just blink and return his appearance to normality, but something made Dean crave the closeness, the heat. 

Cas’s pupils dilated and his breath hitched. He sat up and threw the blankets off them both. “Lead the way.”

 

~*~

 

Cas tugged one of Dean’s t-shirts over his head, shaking out his damp hair. “Well, that was invigorating.”

Dean pulled on his own shirt with a grin. “You don’t say.”

“You know, this is quite soft.” Cas tugged on the edge of his AC/DC shirt. “I’m glad you made me borrow it.”

“Yeah, that whole office worker outfit of yours looked a little stiff.”

Cas made a noise of agreement as he fastened a pair of Dean’s jeans, which he was also borrowing. “Yes, these are much more comfortable.” He looked down at the jeans and frowned, holding them up by one of the belt loops. “Dean?”

Dean looked up from pulling on a pair of socks. “Yeah?” 

Cas turned to face him. “I believe these are a tad too big.”

Dean fought back a laugh and reached for his duffel. “Yeah, just a tad.” When the jeans were tugged to the side, there was almost an inch of empty air between Cas’s hip and the denim. Dean dug around and laid hands on a belt, which he threw to Cas. “That should help.”

Cas made a noise of agreement as he fitted the belt through the loops and buckled it tight. “Much better.”

Dean snickered; the jeans were still a little long in the leg. 

Cas looked down and blushed, but allowed himself to smile as Dean kissed him. 

 

~*~

 

“Good morning,” Sam greeted them from where he sat at the island’s counter. He was drinking a steaming cup of coffee and flipping through a book.

“Good morning,” Cas replied, opening the fridge.

“Heya, Sammy.” Dean pawed through the cupboards, looking for a mug. “Sleep well?”

Sam smirked. “Once I got Q to bed, yes. I slept just fine.”

“Speaking of the Jumping Bean...” Dean glanced around. “Where is she?”

“Still out. She’ll probably sleep for a while.”

Dean paused. “Five bucks says she’ll snooze ’til eleven.”

“You’re on.”

“Pardon me,” Cas piped up, “but why did no one tell me about this food product?” He held up an opened carton of yogurt. “It is fantastic.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Now _that’s_ the last thing I expected you to like.”

Cas shook his head as he swallowed another spoonful of strawberry yogurt. “Anything is better than those abominable carrots.”

“Careful,” Sam chided him. “You’ll hurt their feelings.”

While they were sitting down to breakfast (eggs, bacon, and French toast, courtesy of Dean) a half hour later, Sam wondered aloud about Claire waking up.

“Cas is keeping tabs on her,” Dean informed his brother.

Cas nodded. “I’ll know the moment she wakes up.”

“That’s quite useful.”

A moment later, a half-awake Q stumbled out of her bedroom and scowled at them all. She was wearing a faded shirt that read, ‘You can’t take the sky from me.’ _Whatever that means,_ Dean thought.

Unfazed, Sam smiled at her. “Morning.” 

Q grumbled in response, shuffling to the communal bathroom on the other side of the kitchen; the door closed with a loud snap.

Dean rolled his eyes and threw a five at his brother’s head.

 

_You can’t stop thinking about Sam’s opinion on all this, on everything that you are with Cas -_

_You wonder if maybe because you haven’t talked to Sam about it yet that he doesn’t get it, not completely, or maybe he doesn’t like it, doesn’t approve -_

_But when your brother looks at you, there isn’t any judgement, any cynicism, just complacency, as if it were something he had expected to happen a long time ago -_

_So you cling to that and hope for the best -_

 

“ - Sam, I am not going in there alone,” Dean said in a furious whisper.

“She needs to hear it from you, Dean,” Sam whispered back, shoving a bowl of warmed broth into Dean’s hands.

“But I - ”

“I agree with Sam,” Cas said in a murmur. “It’s best if you explain what happened.”

Dean stared at Cas and swallowed painfully. “But Cas, what if - ”

Cas laid a hand on Dean’s arm. “She won’t hate you, Dean, I can assure you of that.”

Dean said nothing, his heart thudding. There was a tense moment of silence before he said, “All right. I’ll go.”

Cas nodded. “Just fetch us when she’s ready for healing.”

“Okay.” Dean suppressed a shudder and walked across the room, heading for the master bedroom. With a last glance over his shoulder, he went into the room and closed the door behind him.

Claire stirred and her sleepy eyes glanced at Dean as she smiled. “Good morning.”

Dean forced himself to smile back. “Morning.” He sat down in Cas’s usual armchair and stirred the broth. “How’d you sleep?”

“Quite well,” Claire replied. “Although I seem to remember...” She frowned.

With the feeling that he was about to get himself in trouble, Dean said, “Remember what?”

Claire turned her scrutinising gaze on him. “Were you reading to me?”

Dean let out a strangled chuckle. “Yeah, actually, I was.”

“Why? I was only sleeping.”

“Here,” said Dean, lifting a spoonful of broth towards her mouth. “Sam made it special for you - ”

“Dean.” 

Something in her voice was so serious that Dean stopped and lowered the spoon. He ducked his head, already feeling the shame and guilt.

“Dean,” she said again. “What happened to me?”

Dean looked up, somewhat surprised. “What do you - ?”

“I’m not stupid. I know something’s wrong with me.” Claire dropped her gaze and fidgeted. “There has to be a reason why I can’t feel anything, and why my arm’s wrapped up like this.” She paused before adding, “Please, just tell me what’s going on. I hate being in the dark.”

“You sure you don’t wanna eat first?”

Claire shook her head. “It won’t taste good.”

Knowing what she meant, Dean put the bowl down on the bedside table and took a shaky breath. “You want the details?”

“As much as you’ll give me.”

“Okay, so...” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Do you remember being in the house?”

Claire nodded. “We were going after the Kinara.”

“Right. Well, she jumped us, took us by surprise.”

“And she was beating you to a pulp.”

Dean fought off a chuckle. “That she was. Um, when she was done with me, she turned to you... Then, she knocked you out and started pulling you away. I tried to get her to stop, but she just kicked me unconscious, too.”

Claire blinked. “But you seem fine.”

“Yeah, Cas healed me up when Sam and Q found me a few hours later.”

Claire took a faltering breath. “I take it that I wasn’t with you?”

Dean shook his head. “No. You weren’t. The Kinara had taken you as one of her sacrifices.”

“Then why am I alive?”

“We got to you in time. We managed to kill the Kinara and we found you in the cellar of that old house, but...”

Claire searched his expression. “But what, Dean?”

Dean paused, then figured that he might as well be completely honest. “But you were so close to being dead that I couldn’t believe you were still alive.”

Claire let out a little noise, something close to a high-pitched croak.

“But you _were_ alive.” Dean pressed on: “So we brought you here. With everything the Kinara had done to you, there was no way we could’ve taken you to the hospital without convincing everyone we were members of a sadistic cult or Satan-worshipping pedophiles.”

“Everything she did to me?” Claire asked in a surprisingly steady voice. “What do you mean? And yes, Dean,” she added upon seeing Dean’s expression, “I want the details. It’s my body, after all. I deserve to know.”

“All right.” He reached for her left arm and began to undo the bandaging. “Remember when we were doing research, and we found out that the Kinara has to mark her victims before a sacrifice to ensure that the sacrifice goes through?”

Claire nodded, her gaze fixed on his.

Dean unwrapped the last of the bandaging. “She did the same to you, all over your body.”

Claire finally looked at her arm, biting her lip as she took in the cuts. Although they were in much the same halfway-healed condition Dean had seen the night before, they were still gruesome and harrowing. 

“In addition to that,” Dean continued, resting his hands on the mattress, “she beat you up pretty bad and broke a lot of your bones; she probably didn’t want to risk the chance of you getting away.”

Claire nodded again, a single tear dropping against her cheek. She sniffled angrily, and no more tears surfaced.

“This caused a lot of internal hemorrhaging, mostly in your torso. Your organs were breaking in a domino line, one after the other. Cas managed to stop them, and he’s working on the cuts, but that’s going to take longer.”

“Why?”

“Because the Kinara made them with a blade that has more power than an angel, it’s harder for him to heal the cuts as quickly as he can heal broken bones and whatnot.”

“So this is what you’ve been doing? While I am sleeping?”

Dean nodded. “Pretty much.”

“And that’s why you’ve been reading to me.”

“Yes. And Cas numbed you so that you wouldn’t feel the pain. Those cuts can sting something awful, so he said.”

Claire sank back into the cushions and was silent for a full minute. Dean took the opportunity to stir the broth and not make eye contact with her. 

“All right,” she finally said. “What do I need to do?”

Taken aback, Dean fumbled the spoon and nearly knocked over the bowl. “Um, well, now that you know, Cas can heal you while you’re conscious, so the process will be a lot faster.”

Claire nodded, her eyes bright. “How much longer before - ?”

“Another two days,” Dean replied, having asked Cas the same question not twenty minutes before. “One to finish sealing up the cuts, and another to get rid of the scarring and tie up all the loose ends.”

“Okay.” Claire exhaled in a long sigh. A moment later, she nodded to the bowl of broth. “You’d better start feeding that to me. We’ve got to get our healing on.”

Dean smiled and reached for the bowl. “You hungry?”

“You betcha.” Her brow furrowed. “But I guess I’m only getting broths and stuff until I get a bit more stabilised, huh?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Claire shook her head. “It’s okay. But I am looking forward to being able to feed myself again.”

“Understandable.” Dean scooped up a spoonful of broth and held it up, eyebrow raised. Claire grinned and opened her mouth, allowing him to feed her as if she were a little bird.

When the broth was half gone, Dean lowered the bowl and cleared his throat, not looking at Claire. “Um, Claire?”

“Yeah, Dean?”

“I just, um, I really want you to know how sorry I am that this happened to you. It’s completely my fault, I should’ve been more careful, and I am so, so sorry about everything - ”

Claire shook her head. “Dean, it’s not your fault.”

“But I - ”

“No, it isn’t. Do you know why? Because when I agreed to help you and Sam, I knew that I was in danger, that my life was probably at stake, and I understood the risk in hunting a goddam Aztec goddess.” She did that funny pinching thing again with two of the fingers on her left hand, giving the fleshy part on the side of Dean’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I know for a fact that you did everything you could to protect me, and you know why? Because I watched you fight. And if anyone watches you fight, they know that you are doing your utmost to protect them. So don’t hate yourself for this, Dean, please don’t. I’m just a casualty, and I’m happy to have made a difference.” She gave him a warm smile. “And I’m getting better every day. Nothing to worry about, see?”

Dean blinked rapidly, convincing himself that the light streaming in through the windows was what was making his eyes water. He nodded, reaching for the spoon again. “Yeah. I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry i just have a lot of feels about dean and claire.
> 
> one more chapter to go!


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Dean admitted aloud over a breakfast of sausage and egg that despite their isolation and somewhat-dire beginnings, he thought that they were actually having something close to fun.

“Wow,” said Sam, all wide-eyed and shocked. “Dean, I think your inner geek is showing.”

Dean chose to ignore this in favour of being incredibly mature and sprinkling a few flakes of laundry detergent on Sam’s toothbrush. 

“Weak,” Q informed Dean as they watched Sam lurch out of the bathroom after breakfast, practically foaming at the mouth. 

“Oh really?” Dean countered. “What would you have done?”

He found out later that same day when he went to take a shower; Q had filled his shower head with powdered food dye. After Dean shot out of the shower moments after turning it on, half-drenched in purple water, Cas nearly peed himself laughing. Dean tackled him in return.

“I could really get used to this,” Cas said afterwards as they were lying lazy and spent on the floor next to the bed. 

“So could I,” Dean replied, giving the angel a loud kiss on the shoulder. Cas swatted him away in response.

Cas spent the rest of the day healing Claire, who was awake this time. Dean sat dutifully by and read from _Everything Is Illuminated_ , liking the book more and more as he went along. Claire watched him while he read, paying attention to his every word. It was a little odd for Dean at first, but he got used to it and fell into a rhythm, his voice falling into dips and lulls that soothed her through the tedious process. They stayed there until almost midnight, when Cas was exhausted but happy; Claire’s cuts were mostly gone and not scarring.

Dean was the first one out of bed the next morning, and he wandered into the kitchen to see what he could rustle up for breakfast. As he was pawing through the fridge, the sound of a door opening made him turn around. 

“Good morning,” Claire smiled at him. 

Dean blinked as she joined him next to the fridge; it was the first time she was out of bed. “Morning.” Claire hardly had a hair out of place. She was back to normal, sporting both pigtails as well as her denim shorts overalls. She was wearing a funky t-shirt advertising an album called _Night Work_ and her beat-up, old leather-strapped watch. The only sign that anything was out of the ordinary was the state of her calves; they were wrapped in thin, snow-white gauze. They had been the slowest-healing part of her body, and Cas was going to spend the day sealing up and smoothing out the skin.

Dean glanced over his shoulder towards the living room, where Sam was still fast asleep on one of the couches. “We’d better keep it down,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t want Sasquatch over there getting deprived of his beauty sleep.”

Claire snickered and nodded, opening the cupboard next to the sink and pulling out a Tupperware storage box that held half a bag of flour.

Dean frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Pancakes.” Claire’s big grey eyes turned on him with a glimmer of energy that had been missing for the past few days. “That all right?”

“Only if some of them are chocolate chip,” Dean replied with a shit-eating grin. 

“You got it.”

A few minutes later they were watching the homemade batter sizzle and bubble in the pan. Both of them had a handful of chocolate chips, and were taking turns throwing chips into the circle of batter. This made a _plink plink_ noise that was not unlike the sound of rain.

When the time came, Dean grabbed a spatula and flipped the pancake with a light _snap!_ “Maybe you should go and wake up her majesty,” he muttered to Claire. “She’ll get mad if she missed out on pancakes.”

Claire nodded, dropped her handful of chocolate chips back into the bag, and wandered over to Q’s bedroom, knocking lightly before going in.

Dean fiddled with the spatula, momentarily turning it into a guitar before he had to take the pancake out of the frying pan and put it on a large plate. As he was pouring the second pancake, a pair of arms looped around his waist and hugged him close. 

Dean smiled as he returned the ladle to the batter bowl. “Morning, Cas.”

Cas pressed a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck. “You’re so cute when you cook.”

Dean blushed and his smile widened. “It’s all for show, believe me.”

“Mmm...” Cas shifted to Dean’s right, keeping an arm around Dean’s waist. Dean took advantage of the opportunity to kiss Cas, pressing his mouth to the angel’s in a tender and lingering, albeit brief, moment. 

The door to Q’s room closed and Dean’s smile flickered as he turned to meet the girls’ gazes. He wasn’t sure yet if he was comfortable with being physical with Cas in front of them. But Claire could only beam at him and even Q’s scowl was gentle, so his smile returned and he quickly kissed Cas on the jaw before refocusing on the pancake. He cleared his throat and flipped the pancake. “Good morning, Q.”

“Do you wish me a good morning,” she immediately replied in a lilting drawl, “or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

Dean chuckled, unfazed. “All of them at once.”

Q looked surprised but nodded in approval before sitting down at the island’s counter so that she was right behind the stove. She reached for the stack of cards she had left there the night before and began to shuffle. 

As Claire approached to stand next to Dean again, Cas squeezed Dean’s hip and stepped away; Dean immediately felt the loss of warmth. “I’ll leave you chefs to it.” And he joined Q at the counter, peering at the cards in her hand; he never ceased to be fascinated by them. 

Q noticed this and cleared her throat as she finished shuffling. “Would you like to learn how to play Go-Fish?”

“Certainly. I’m assuming that there isn’t any real fish involved, correct?”

Q pressed her lips together in an effort to keep from laughing. “Correct, Cas.” And she began to deal, her lips paling under the strain.

Dean chuckled and flipped the second pancake onto the plate, noticing too late that it didn’t have any chocolate chips in it. Claire reached for a handful of chocolate chips and said in an undertone, “I can’t believe Sam’s sleeping through this.”

Dean shook his head as he poured the third pancake. “Kid’s a heavy sleeper. If he falls asleep on the road, not even ambulance or police sirens can wake him up.”

“That’s impressive.” 

Dean nodded and switched on the oven so that he could keep the already-made pancakes warm. “That’s why it’s so easy to prank him when he’s sleeping.”

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting down to pancakes drenched in syrup and butter (or, in Q’s case, plain), and Dean was snickering as he approached Sam’s dormant form. A plateful of pancakes in hand, Dean held the plate just underneath Sam’s nose, waiting for the smell to catch.

A moment later, Sam’s nose twitched and his brow furrowed. His head lolled, and he fell nose-first into the pancakes. Sam awoke with a jolt, nearly knocking the plate out of his brother’s hands. “Dean!” 

Cackling, Dean danced away and put Sam’s plate on the table. “Breakfast time, Sammy! You snooze, you lose!”

Huffing angrily and using his sleeve to wipe the syrup off his nose, Sam got up and joined them at the table, trying his utmost not to smile.

 

~*~

 

The next morning was sunny and warm, but a melancholy tone hung in the air as clothes were packed away, food was thrown out, and sheets were changed. 

Dean looked up when there was a knock at the bedroom door. “Yeah, Claire?”

She fidgeted on the spot, wholly returned to normal. Her skin was bright, scarless, and she looked as though the Kinara had never laid a hand on her. “I was wondering, well, um...” She paused before saying in one breath, “Iknowthatwe’releavingsoonandthatyouguyshavetobeonyourwaybut - ”

Dean cut her off. “In English, please.”  
“Um, I was wondering if maybe we could go the lake. Only for an hour or two, of course.”

“The lake?”

Claire nodded. “It’s a twenty minute walk from here. I wouldn’t ask but...” She shrugged. “It’s really nice to go there on a hot day.”

Dean considered, a smile edging onto his face. “That’s a pretty good idea. Why don’t you go run it by the others and see what they think?”

Claire grinned broadly. “Okay!” And she dashed out of sight, calling the question out to Sam, Cas, and Q, who were locked in a debate over thermo-nuclear-something-or-other.

Dean chuckled to himself as he zippered his duffel shut. Now _this_ would be a day to remember.

 

_Has it ever crossed your mind that this would be the way to do it? To just turn your back and leave?_

_You and Cas could find seclusion like this, in a corner far away from everything, from the noise of guns and fear and bad decisions -_

_A seclusion with a lake as pretty as this one, one that mirrors the sky and seems just as deep -_

 

“Gangway!” Dean bellowed as he charged for the water, crashing in and diving beneath the waves, the pebbles and rocks under his feet causing him to slip and slide. 

Q, Claire, Sam, and Cas’s laughter ringing in his ears, Dean grinned as he surfaced, relishing the delicious slide of water against his skin. 

 

_You pull him in with you, even though he says that angels don’t swim -_

_You show him the opposite as you suspend him across the surface of the water, letting him float next to your side as he smiles up at you, his eyes reflecting the happiness in your own -_

_You feel grounded despite the limbo of the cool water, and you wonder if you can just stay here, where you are free of the dust and dirt that weighs like guilt upon your shoulders -_

_Q yells when she hits the surface of the water, but a moment later her anger is gone and replaced by a large grin as she splashes around like a fish - Claire explains that Q is part mermaid and you sincerely believe it._

_Sam pretends to tan for a while, aloof and superior in his sunglasses until you splash him, soaking him completely. He swears and chases you through the water, trying to dunk you._

_Your Team of Free Will is wearing jeans instead of swimsuits, looking more ridiculous than ever next to your two favourite (bikini-clad) nerds, but you know that this is a sublime delight, and no amount of ridiculousness could change that._

_You never want this moment to end, but of course it will end and of course it will be sad -_

_But sadness is the point of enjoyment, so feel not an ounce of guilt as you go ahead -_

_Enjoy yourself._

 

Dean pulled up to the sidewalk with his jaw set, the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine doing nothing to steady him. “Here we are.”

He could feel Claire’s eyes on the back of his head as she said, “Okay.” They were dropping both of the girls off at Claire’s house because that was where Q spent most of her time, and apparently, there was “no way in hell” (according to Q) that she was going back to her own house.

A moment later the doors of the Impala were popping open, everyone’s except Dean’s. Sam tapped Dean’s knee before he got out of the car, clearing his throat pointedly. A moment later, Dean shut off the engine and opened his door, not making eye contact with anyone. 

Claire’s aunt’s house was a long concrete walkway away from the road. Cas was lingering with the girls at the mouth of the path, smiling at a joke Q had just made. But when Sam stepped forward into their little circle, everything changed and became clear. It was time for goodbyes. 

Dean gritted his teeth and stayed on the boundaries, not trusting himself to do more. He couldn’t hear them perfectly, but the others’ mouths made the sounds of parting. 

Q pulled Sam into a sudden but fierce hug, swallowed by his enormous jacket. Sam hugged her like she was his little sister, closing his eyes for a moment as her hair brushed against his hand. Claire took the opportunity to hug Cas, thanking him endlessly for healing her. Then they switched, and Claire was hugging Sam, smiling as he tugged on one of her pigtails, which were still damp from their lake expedition. To Dean’s surprise, Q hugged Cas with a genuine grin, and the angel smiled as he hugged her in return. 

Dean inhaled shakily and crossed his arms against his chest. _You are not ready for this._

When the others parted they all looked towards Dean, Sam ducking his head before saying a final goodbye and walking back to the car. Cas tried to make eye contact with Dean before he went to stand next to the Impala. 

Dean found it in himself to walk towards the two teens, ignoring the strangely strong urge he had to hug them both and not let them go. 

To his mixture of relief and discomfort, Q stepped forward first with a light smile. “Well, Dean, it’s been real.” She held out her fist, and it took Dean a moment to remember what to do. He bumped it and couldn’t help smiling. 

“Bye, Q. It was really fun spending time together.”

Q snorted. “Whatever. Just make sure you see a doctor about that little God Complex, Winchester.” But then she grinned, and he knew she was just teasing. 

“Will do.” Then he remembered something, a question that had hibernated in his mind since he had first met Claire and Q. “Wait. Q, what’s your actual name? It can’t just be ‘Q’.”

Q paused, her gaze calculating. “Quintessa,” she finally said, “derived from ‘quintessence.’ Ask Cas about it. He’ll know what it is.”

Dean nodded, intrigued. “I will.”

She gave him a last nod and turned away, lifting up her duffel and heading up the concrete path. Her footsteps faded as Dean took a step towards Claire, who was smiling.

“So.”

“So,” she replied.

Dean huffed a little and said nothing, spreading his arms wide. 

Claire’s smile grew into a grin as she bounded into the hug. Dean hugged her almost as tightly as he usually hugged Cas, not wanting to admit to himself that he was actually going to miss these stupid nerds. 

A moment later he pulled away. “Look, I - ” He paused, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’m really sorry about what happened to you and - ”

“Hush.” Claire shook her head. “You need to start learning when _not_ to take the blame, Bilbo.” She nudged him with her elbow, a light bump that was so incredibly Claire. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?” She jerked her head towards the Impala. “And don’t you ever let go of that angel, either.”

Dean allowed himself a smile. “I have no intentions of letting him go, Claire. And, as for the other thing... I’ll try. I promise I will.”

Claire grinned again. “That’s my Bilbo.” She hugged him again, briefly and firmly, before turning away and picking up her bag. She looked back at Dean and said, “Visit sometime, okay? Before we go to University, I mean.”

Dean nodded, his stomach rolling. “We will.”

Claire took a step up the concrete path and gave a half-hearted wave. “Bye, Dean.”

Dean gave a little wave in return. “Bye, Claire.”

And then she turned and was gone, running up the path to burst in through the door to welcome shouts from her little brother.

 

_You pretend it doesn’t hurt, that the sound of receding footsteps doesn’t stagger you like an earthquake, no matter who it is that’s walking away -_

_So you stand tall and straight, there is nothing wrong with you -_

_You feel none of this -_

 

Dean spun on his heel and strode back towards the Impala, ignoring Cas’s gaze. He pulled open the driver’s side, the angel clambering into the backseat, and started the engine. A moment later he pulled away from the sidewalk, giving the engine an extra push so that it drowned out whatever Sam was trying to say to him. Everything turned into white noise and faded into the background as he drove a block, two blocks, three blocks. He felt like he was about to burst and evaporate all in the same moment, this was too much, too much change, the backseat was too quiet with Q and Claire bickering about some stupid book or movie -

He pulled over the moment he had a chance to and tugged off his seatbelt. “Get out, Sammy.”

His poor brother was entirely bewildered. “Huh?!”

Dean fixed him with a hard stare. “You drive. I’m too tired.”

“But Dean, I - ”

“Sam,” Dean cut him off with an angry snap, “all I want to do is take a nap and cuddle with my boyfriend. Is that too much to ask for?!?”

Sam looked torn between laughing hysterically and rolling over dead. “I, uh, no, of course it isn’t - ”

“So get in the damn driver’s seat.” Dean threw open the driver’s door, got out, and slid into the backseat, huffing as he pressed into Cas’s side. 

Cas’s expression was twisted with concern. “Dean, are you - ?”

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean said, meaning the opposite. He hunkered down against the angel, getting cosy as Sam pulled away from the curb and switched on the rock station. Dean could’ve sworn that he saw Sam shoot him and Cas a little smile before he turned onto the main road.

Now that he wasn’t being watched, Dean allowed himself to relax into Cas’s side, sprawling across the backseat, his head lolling against the angel’s shoulder. Cas snaked a hand around Dean’s side, pulling him close as he pressed a kiss to the side of Dean’s head. 

“Cas?” Dean asked in a low voice after a minute or so.

“Yes?”  
“What does ‘quintessence’ mean?”  
Cas’s arm stiffened against Dean’s rib cage. “Is that what ‘Q’ stands for?”

“Well, ‘Quintessa,’ but she said it came from ‘quintessence’ and that you’d know what it was.”

“Using the most artful definition, it comes from medieval and classical philosophy. It was the name for the fifth substance that existed in addition to the four elements. This fifth substance was believed to compose the heavenly bodies and lie dormant in all living things.”

“So that when a living being would ascend to heaven, their quintessence would activate and turn them into a heavenly body?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Dean considered that for a moment. “So we all have quintessence?”

“Apparently. Although, I am already exercising mine.”

“Hush,” said Dean, unaware that he was echoing Claire. “Don’t make me jealous.”

Cas’s laugh rumbled through his chest and resonated through Dean’s body. Cas reached for Dean’s hand and wove his fingers through Dean’s. Dean zoned out and focused solely on the warmth exuding from Cas’s body, slipping further and further towards sleep. 

“Dean,” Cas muttered next to Dean’s ear, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, “you can always visit them.”

Dean felt a pang in the middle of his chest; he had almost managed to distract himself from thinking about those two. “Yeah.” But a keen little voice in the corner of his mind spoke the unsaid; he knew they never would.


	12. Epilogue

Cas pressed a kiss to the hollow under Dean’s ear, leaning his hands against the table as he curled in on Dean from behind. “What are you up to?”

Dean grinned as he wrapped a hand around Cas’s forearm. “Just writing a few things down. Memories, and all that.”

“Hmm.” Cas peered at the screen and his expression lit up. “Is this about the case with the Kinara?”

Dean chuckled, taking a sip of lemonade from the tall glass next to his laptop. “You got it.”

Cas started to laugh. “That was a fun one.” 

“Yeah, it was. Remember that week we spent in Malibu afterwards?”

Cas snorted. “Don’t I? Sam nearly had to push us out of that motel _and_ all the way to Malibu.”

“Well...” Dean twisted around, a sly grin on his face. “We weren’t exactly being quiet.”

Cas quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me.”

Dean eagerly leaned forward for a kiss, but Cas ducked away with a laugh.

“Aw! You spoilsport!” 

“Q and Claire will be here in a few minutes, Dean! They can’t walk in on us making out.”

Dean considered. “Well - ”

“Dean.”

“Okay, okay.”

Cas laughed again as he went into the kitchen. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“I want that in writing.”

“Will Enochian do?”

Dean shook his head and pressed save on his laptop. “Only if you’ll translate for me.”

“Ooh, that might take some convincing.”

“And you know how good I am at that.”

“Don’t I just!” Cas popped his head around the doorway to the kitchen and grinned. “Your pie has cooled, by the way.”

“Awesome.”

“Did you make raspberry?”

Dean snorted. “It’s the only pie Q’ll eat. Besides, they’re in season.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell from the ten baskets you picked out by the creek.”

“Shuddup.”

“It’s going to take a little more than that to get me to stay quiet, Dean.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. 

“I got it,” Dean called to Cas, closing his laptop and putting it under a newspaper. The last thing he wanted was Q and Claire getting a load of what he’d written.

In the six steps it took him to get to the door, Dean felt a whirlwind slideshow of the last ten years go by:

After they had said goodbye to the girls and had driven out of Boston city limits, they had spent the night in a tiny motel in the next town over. Of course, Dean and Cas had had their own room, but that hadn’t stopped them from making so much noise that Sam had kicked their butts out the next morning, saying they needed a vacation somewhere waaay out of his earshot. That was when Dean and Cas had taken the impromptu trip to Malibu.

In the years that followed, Dean and Cas had hunted with Sam as a team, taking out as much as they could. But when Garth had taken over the circuit and began introducing all these younger and stronger hunters, Sam and Dean had gotten their affairs in order and finally stopped hunting. They all knew that they could never really stop being hunters, but they lived a bit like Sam Colt, ready to fight if necessary, but no more than that. Sam was living out in San Francisco with another retired huntress (name of Allison), working as an Executive Assistant in a law firm. It sounded awful to Dean, but Sam was happy, and both brothers were glad to have their own space.

Once Dean pulled out of becoming a hunter, Cas opted out of angelhood and gave back his wings, deciding to live one mortal life with Dean. That had almost literally tied the knot of their civil union in Seattle, where they spent half the year. There, they owned a small but comfortable house and pursued small but comfortable jobs. Dean worked as a mid-tier engineer at a Boeing plant and Cas worked at a school library. They were frugal, saving and investing their money to save up for the months they would spend in their cabin. Their cabin (where they were now) was in the heart of Tanglewood, Massachusetts, not a ten minute walk from Q’s family’s cabin. Dean still used Baby whenever they needed to make a grocery run or a DVD rental, but she was used less out of desperation and more out of comfort. 

Q and Claire had gone their separate ways University-wise, but had ended up at the same graduate school studying different fields. They both spent a good chunk of their summer vacation at Q’s cabin, although they spent most of their time with Dean and Cas, talking and fishing and reading and watching movies that Dean “absolutely had to see because he couldn’t live without seeing them,” according to Q. 

Dean grinned as he reached for the doorknob. It was weird, his family, but he didn’t have any plans to change it. And with that in mind, he opened the door.

~ THE END ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh! I can't believe I finished it!!!
> 
> so I ended up giving y'all an epilogue anyway - I thought of a great idea and just had to write it...
> 
> thank you for all your feedback and support through this process :) I have a few fic ideas swimming through my mind, but it might be awhile before I post a new one...
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! <3
> 
> hugs~~~


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